Without Question
by Tien Riu
Summary: [AU SLASH] As the wizarding world’s fragile peace crumbles, the students of Hogwarts struggle with assignments, tests and runaway pegasuses admist romance, hormones and finally tragedy. HG/RW HP/DM
1. Omega

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**Author's Note**: When **AsheFarley**, my beta-reader, first began working with me to prepare "Without Question" for Fictionalley.org's archives, she suggested I rewrite the prologue to better suit the story.  Suffice to say, I agreed whole heartedly.  This is the result.

Much effort went into recreating '**Omega**' – the Prologue of "**Without** **Question**".  We (**AsheFarley** and I) would both (really, really) appreciate comments, criticisms and commentary on what you, the readers, think of how well (or not) '**Omega**' fits in with the rest of the story – especially as the prologue.

And as always, with thanks to my beta-reader, **AsheFarley** without which this prologue would still be universally disliked by its author and most readers.

Yours sincerely,

Tien Riu 

=====================================================================

**Prologue**: Omega

      _It ended in fire_.

      Where it _began_ – that was a question Hermione did not quite know how to answer.

      _It ended in rain_.

      She sometimes wondered if there truly was _one_ moment to mark the beginning that had lead – with irrevocable certainty – to this ending that bore the smell of smoke and rain like a shroud.

      _It ended in ashes as the wind whistled through the smoking remnants between 'Joe's Vacuum Cleaner Parts' and 'McPhersons'_.

      It seemed far more logical (even plausible) that there had been more than one Alpha (a hundred choices, a thousand paths, a million trails) – trickling together with the inevitability of a flood to this Omega.  

      _It ended beneath a dripping overhang across the street where Helen Granger stood with Ronald West, Daryl Mentone and Harold Jameson_.

      Standing there, wet from the rain that dripped and dribbled through the ineffectual roof and sides of the plastic bus shelter, she felt the world crumbling into uncertainty.

    They were alone.

      _It ended amidst the ruins of the Leaky Cauldron_.

      At first Hermione had not understood _why_ Lord Voldemort would attack the Leaky Cauldron.  It held no particular significance either strategically or logistically.  Yet Professor Lupin had struggled to ensure the news of its fall reached the network.

    And first Ron – then Draco – had argued, despite the risks, to confirm – with their own eyes – that it was true.

      Hermione understood symbols.

    Diagon Alley was the centre of English wizarding civilisation.  And the Leaky Cauldron was its only visible gateway to the muggle world.

    Sometimes, Hermione knew, wars were lost – and won – on symbols.  Lord Voldemort had ordered the attack for reasons other than hatred and insanity.

      Ron slipped a hand around her waist.

    The motion was familiar and strangely alien at the same time – perhaps because Ronald West touched Helen Granger in such a way – but Ron Weasley had never seen Hermione Granger as anything but a friend.

    Their closeness did not predate Hogwarts' fall – and in her subconscious at least, she equated their unspoken agreement with all things muggle rather than magical.

    "All right?"  he murmured against the top of her head (he had grown in the past year) and the words rumbled through her, a bass beat out of sync with the sound of his heart.  

A tendril of rain-darkened hair dangled in front of her eyes; shortly after they had left Hogwarts, he had dyed it brown.  She had never thought she would miss Weasley red but she did – more than she thought possible.  

   "Hermione?"  he whispered against her hair, "Are you all right?"

   "Yes." 

    Standing there, uncomfortably close, Hermione remembered the day Professor Dumbledore had summoned her to a small room and offered knowledge in exchange for security.  _When did it begin for you, Ron?_ She wondered quietly.  _When did it start? As far back as meeting Harry on the train back in first year?_ She wanted to ask him – but the words dried up in her throat.

    _Was it on that giant chessboard? In the Shrieking Shack? After Harry nearly died facing the dragon? When Voldemort killed Cedric Diggory?_

    Or had it been after that – not so long ago, really, though it felt as if a lifetime had passed.

    _Did it start when you nearly died in Madam Malkin's store? Did it start when you lunged at Draco on the Hogwarts Express? Was it when we found the scar on Harry's arm? The day you stopped calling Draco 'Malfoy'?_

    The past seemed a tangled, knotted image of arguments, secret meetings, frantic study and sleepless days mixed irrevocably with schoolwork and classes.

    _When did you see it too, Ron?_

      "The bus is here."  Draco said; the hood of his jacket had fallen back and his hair clung to his face in wet strands.

Ron glanced up and smirked, "You look like a skunk."  He snorted.

They had inexpertly dyed his hair black (Malfoy silver was too recognisable) and the patches of blond from the attempt produced a rather strange, striped effect.  It suited Draco – he carried the oddity effortlessly.

    "Sod you."  Draco replied – but the words were habit and stripped of the vitriol of a year ago.

      _When did you realise that the right spell or potion couldn't fix this?_

      Ron's hand was warm in hers as he followed her into the bus, Draco and Harry several steps behind.

      _When did this stop being an adventure that would end as soon as we told a professor?_

      "Do you think – after this is all over, they'll rebuild it?"  Harry asked quietly as they took seats in the back of the bus, "Diagon Alley won't be the same without the Leaky Cauldron."

    "That's if this is ever going to be over."  Ron said darkly, "Feels as if this war has been going on forever."

    "So long as your definition of forever is one year."  Draco drawled, "Idiot."  
   "Prat."

   "Twit."

   "Git."

   "Bastard."

   "Unlikely."  Ron snarked with a smirk he had picked up from Draco.

   "Gryffindor!"

   "That isn't an insult –"

   "Given that it's a synonym for brainless, stupid, unimaginative, ignorant, suicidal freaks with less survival instincts than a depressed lemming –"

   "What the hell is a 'synonym' – and no it isn't!"

    They were fighting again; Harry rolled his eyes and flashed a slight grin at Hermione.  Ordinarily, Ron and Draco's arguments would have amused her – an odd reaction to the verbal abuse the two routinely tossed at each other's heads.  However, given that she and Harry had been forced to physically separate the two back when this had all begun – the epithets and insults didn't seem as important.

    Today however, Hermione couldn't share Harry's wry exasperation.  _When did it turn into something Professor Dumbledore couldn't make better with a wave of his hand, a smile and some points for Gryffindor?_

      "Hermione?"  Harry asked; Hermione jerked out of her thoughts.

   "What is it Harry?"

   "What's wrong?"  He asked simply.

She shook her head, "Nothing."

      _When did it stop being a game?_

      "It isn't nothing, Hermione."  What's wrong?"  Harry repeated patiently.

    She stared at him.  And wasn't it strange that they were all so close and yet could no longer fill the silences?

    Perhaps it was because the secrets had grown past assignments, crushes and pranks – and because this was Harry Potter: all while saving Hogwarts from evil plots, winning points and earning the Quidditch and House Cups for Gryffindor.

    The bus reached the end of the street.  From the windows, Hermione couldn't see the place where the Leaky Cauldron had once been – the other buildings hid its missing mass as easily as they had once overshadowed its presence.

      _When did house points and adventures stop being important?_

      Ron was still holding her hand though he was arguing with Draco.  His weight against her side was a comforting warmth.  (_When did being this close to Ron stop feeling – strange?_)  The tiny space between the seats were filled with the legs of the three boys – none of them seemed able to sit properly, rather they sprawled.

    " – at least I'm not a prissy stuck up wanker –"  Ron was saying heatedly.

    Draco smirked as he drawled: "You're really stuck on the fact that I'm getting some – aren't you?"

   "Only if you define 'some' as your right hand -!"

   "Well _somebody_'s right hand anyway."

   "Oh that's just – sick."

   "Well yes, with that attitude it's no wonder you obsess over my sex life _since you obviously won't get one_!"

   "You're the one stuck on sex –"

   "Who keeps bringing it up?"

   "You!"

   "No I don't –"

   "Yes you do you git!"

   "Imbecile."  
   "Ferret!"

   "Weasel."

   "Monkey's father!"

   "What's that supposed to mean?"

   "If you're too stupid –"

   "Too stupid? Too _stupid_? I'll have you know –"

      _When did it become meaningless?_

      "Where do you think Professor Dumbledore is?"  Hermione asked finally, tuning out Draco's response to Ron's snipe.

    Harry was silent for a while before he answered: "I hope he's with Sirius."  
   "Oh."  Hermione said, biting her lip, "Oh – oh _Harry_."

   "It's better than the alternative."  Harry said simply.

      _When did bravery become something more than fighting monsters and casting hexes?_

      Almost without conscious control, her mind continued searching restlessly through memories.  She wanted – _needed_ – the explanation – the reason – the _point_ – when it had become futile to change because the future would be this unlikely present.

      _When did it become – _real_?_

      Some day, Hermione knew she would look back to this moment (squashed next to Ron, feet tangled with Harry's legs, fingers subconsciously itching to dry Draco's hair and ignoring the argument raging to her left) and realise that it marked a new start.  A beginning birthed from an Omega created by the ashes of a symbol.

    The Leaky Cauldron was gone.

      Growing up was a strange process.  Far more than a physical or mental change, it was the very act of acceptance that made on leave childhood behind.

    Sitting there, Hermione realised the answer she sought would never be forthcoming and in doing so, grew up.

      _It ended up on a bus_.

=====================================================================

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**


	2. Darkness

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

Disclaimer: 

Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  

C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.  

Summary: With the threat of a resurrected Voldemort undermining the fragile peace of the wizarding world, the students of Hogwarts struggle with assignments, tests and runaway pegasuses (not to mention how to pronounce the plural of a peguses).  Fifth year at Hogwarts, amidst the complications of full blown adolescent hormones, romance and finally, tragedy.

Main Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley

Relationships: HG/RW HP/Cho HP/DM

Additional Information: 

The future of this piece of fiction will contain what is colloquially known as 'yaoi', 'shonen ai' and/or 'slash'.  For the uninitiated, this refers to 'homosexual relationships'.  Flames (in the form of constructive criticisms) are welcome, but not if the topic is an inclusion of slash themes in 'Without Question'.  My response will likely be a complete disregard of the flame in question or some form of cutting rejoinder - increased response based on level of prejudice displayed in flame. 

=====================================================================

**Chapter One **- Darkness

It began in many ways, with a moment so innocuous that no history book recorded its occurrence.  The night air was frigid against the cheeks of the fearful.  Sweetwater spray from their trip across the lake formed shards of melted ice against their cheeks, and the cold permeated their bodies despite the stout wool of robes newly donned.

    Draco Malfoy, scion of the Malfoy House and sole heir to his family's name, fortune and honour, stared across the small crowd of eleven year olds that formed Hogwart's 1992 first year in-take.  A boy was staring in awe at the castle, another on the 'miracle' of the boat trip.

    _Miracles - ?_  He scowled - mudbloods the lot of them if they couldn't distinguish between protection charms and divine intervention.  Shoddy protection charms no less - it went against good taste to be so - _showy_ with enchantments.  He sneered at the two boys - pathetic, truly pathetic.  

    _Father said I would learn control, patience and strength at Hogwarts._  

    He wondered if Lucius Malfoy had intended contamination to occur alongside control.

      Years passed, four to be exact; and the seasons passed as were their wont.  Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, stood on the platform watching as the Hogwarts Express left Hogsmeade Station with a shrill whistle.  On it, he knew, were four hundred and twenty three students - first through to seventh years.  There should have been four hundred and twenty four students.  

    Cedric Diggory's death lay heavy against Albus' shoulders - as did the burden of blame.  _How many more will die before this war begins?_  He had buried students, friends, colleagues - and enemies - in his long life.  All victims - and sacrifices - to Voldemort's demented desire for ultimate power.  _And the end result -_

    The end result had been a generation of children fearful of the past, blinded to the future and desperately clinging to the present.  Cornelius Fudge was a symbol of that futile blindness - but it was understandable.  Fudge was not a coward - no Gryffindor was.  An idiot perhaps, but even that came not from lack of intelligence but fear.  

    _Living in a war zone does that to any child._  

    He felt tired.  

    Tired and very, very old.  Three wars - two monsters - and all the weight of responsibility on his shoulders because there was no other to take the positions so desperately crying for their expertise.  _We are at war - and we neither have the resources, the desire nor most importantly, the people to reach our destination._  

    _James Potter had the charisma to lead them all._  An old thought - fifteen years of repetition and useless sorrow - had diminished the memory of the young man for so many others.  Sometimes Albus wondered if he was the only one who still remembered not who James Potter had been but who he _could_ have been.  Who they all could have been.

    _Together with Sirius Black as a trusted second in command, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew to temper their youth with maturity and Lily Evans and Severus Snape as tacticians, they would have been formidable._  But there had not been enough time for the promise he had seen in all of them to be fulfilled.  In a single night and day, it had been too late - and seven years of hope had been shattered.  Lily and James dead, Black incarcerated, Pettigrew dead, Snape dragged into the darkness and Lupin fading to the background.  _And all that remained was little Harry Potter for all the hopes of our world to rest upon._

    So little had changed in fourteen years.  Snape had returned, true - but bitter, so very bitter and angry with himself and the world.  The strain of optimism that had tempered his intelligence destroyed - drowned in blood, hatred and darkness.  Lupin had followed - slowly - but without the support he so desperately needed, had lost the confidence to speak.  And Sirius - _Young Black - too brave by half, too sure of justice for the innocent.  How we failed you._  

    Innocent, all these years.  Too late for anything but the scattered ashes of a life shattered to be collected.  And unlike Fawkes, even the indomitable Black could not birth himself unaided from the ruins of his life.  _And little Peter - what happened there? What did I miss?_

    He had buried so many of the children - teaching them, watching them grow, and loosing them.  And this war - accelerated with weapons hidden and tempered by time and patience.  They were out-matched before they begun, ill prepared - would be fought not on the battlefields of blood but in the darkness of the mind where light and dark were as one and impossible to separate.  

    This time, they would die not from the Unforgivable Curses - but from fear.  _Voldemort will win not through blood but through their minds._  

    A generation of darkness had already infiltrated, winding its cold way through the light - and the children of such an unholy creation would never know the difference.

    He felt so very old - and tired.  So very tired.

      "Albus?"  

Albus turned and nodded to Minerva McGonnagal, "Ah, Minerva - ready?"

She nodded, perhaps noting the worried expression in his eyes - but not commenting.  That was her way.

   "The carriage is here.  Shall we leave?"  she asked instead.

He nodded and followed her as they made their way through the deserted platform.  On a rushing train, little Harry Potter sat, far older than his age intended.  _Another failure there - to keep him protected, allow the source of the story you created for our world's salvation the peace and normality that was rightfully his._  

    Little Harry had been forced to grow - too much his father's son in these times to remain in the children's protected corner as they had all tried so hard to keep him.  _Too much his mother's child to want to believe he has the right to stay protected when he should fight._  

    The carriage rocked back and forth in a smooth motion as it took off on its clawed legs.  Minerva drew out a book, enlarging it with a  wave of her wand and began to read.  This was a custom they had fallen into - so long repeated it had taken comfort of routine despite its horrific roots.  _But Harry, you are neither your father nor your mother.  And young Mister Weasley and Miss Granger are not Lily Evans or Sirius Black, nor is Draco Malfoy Severus Snape._

    There was both good and bad to be found in the lack of replication in this generation's newest cannon fodder.  Hope perhaps - despair certainly.  And the sure and certain knowledge of uncertainty.  That in itself was a sign of hope - though it was equally a double edged sword.  _Snape came back - but Malfoy did not.  Evans died but Black did not.  'A deck of cards laid out on a table in a muggle game of chance.  And who is to say that fate chose the hand - or chance.'_

    Albus Dumbledore watched the swiftly blurring landscape as the day wore from morning to afternoon.  The past had been destroyed, the present was unprepared and the future was very bleak indeed.  And he was tired.  _Two wars - a third to come.  _And the choice to leave was no choice at all, not when there was no other who could bear the burden.  

    _Fudge was a poor substitute for James Potter.  And Minerva, bless her, knows that she would do worse than Minister Fudge in my place._  He wondered if it was a selfish wish to want Frank and Alice Longbottom healthy and well.  _The same players - the same pawns.  The cycle repeats, endlessly, and with each turning of the wheels of fate the children die, and with them, our hope for change._  

*

St. Mungo's was one of the few magical hospitals in England.  It was a rare ailment that required the full attention of more than one trained medi-wizard, and even less accidents that an adult witch or wizard (or even a suitably advanced student) could not fix with the wave of a wand or judicious use of a potion.

    Minerva remembered a time when St. Mungo's wards echoed - empty but for several unfortunates.  But that had been before the last war.  Before 'unforgivable' had become another word to conveniently forget.  

    The hallways were white as were the robes of the inmates.  Every now and then, the sound of screaming, moaning and yells could be heard as a silencing charm collapsed briefly to allow the medi-wizards and witches to go about their work.

    By now, she had memorised the route.  _How long has it been?_  The question was an old one - repeated with each year.  Albus was silent by her side, even the twinkle of humour in his eye diminished.  She would have worried - had so many years ago when this had first begun - but experience had taught her that Albus Dumbledore would not break beneath the weight he carried.  Bend beneath his burden, and tire from the work he had to complete - but he would not break.  _Not till there is somebody to take his place._

    Pang of guilt - long familiar.  She was a good teacher, an adequate vice-principal and second-in-command, but she was not Albus Dumbledore and neither was she more than a mediocre headmaster.  Certainly not the sort of headmaster Hogwarts deserved - no _required_ in these dark times.  And in many ways, Minerva McGonnagal was not unhappy at this fact - the responsibility Albus carried made even the courage that had placed her in Gryffindor all those years ago question the logic of moving forward.

      The door was similar to all others in the ward.  A small grilled window set at eye level that revealed a round table, several chairs and a large window - also blocked off with bars.  The door was opened by the medi-witch who had followed them - that too was part of the routine.

   "Thank you."  Albus murmured as he stepped into the room, Minerva followed, closing the door behind her.  

The medi-witch remained outside, watching carefully through the grill.  She wouldn't hear anything - the silence charm was broken only when the door was open.  That was against the rules - but nobody mentioned that fact.

      "Alice.  Frank."  Albus said quietly, sitting down in one of the chairs around the round table.  

Minerva took her usual position beside the door, wand at the ready - though it had never been used in all the years she had followed Albus for this rendezvous.  The two other occupants did not look up or change expression in any way.

    Frank Longbottom was thirty five - but he looked younger.  He had been twenty when the Cruciatus Curse had ripped his sanity away - it sometimes seemed as if time had stopped then for him.  No lines lined his face to give it that distinction of age; and though some fine white silvered the light brown of his hair, they were barely noticeable.  He looked - young.  And as Neville Longbottom would in several years.  _How time passes._

    She could remember him as he had once been - could remember the slow steps in his courtship with Alice Jenkins.  The gradual growth in confidence as he had grown - and the confident young man he had become.  _How time passes - and the steps we take mirror those we took so many years ago._  Neville was very much like his mother and father.  

    "Neville is doing well at Hogwarts."  Albus continued, his voice conversational.

At the familiar name, Alice Longbottom looked up - her yellow hair was dry and splintered in the busy ward, somehow lending age to her.  Something sparked in her eyes, "N - Neville."  

It had excited the medical witches and wizards when Alice had first started to speak again, five years ago.  They had hoped that perhaps recovery would be possible.  But improvement - if any - was slow.  The first few years, during the first visits, Minerva had watched, silently, as Albus conversed to silent bodies lying still as corpses on beds.  

    "Yes, Neville."  Albus said, and smiled, looking over to Alice, "He is growing into a fine boy, Alice."  

Alice stared at the older man, then turned back to the table; they were drawing Minerva realised.  Random scribbles scratches with Google's Magic Crayons.  Little stick figures jumped up and down on the discoloured paper.  

There was silence filled only with Albus speaking of Hogwarts - the changes and incidents through the year that had passed, always intersped with comments on Neville.  Albus somehow managed to keep an eye on all the students; the same conversation with different parents would have created a different slant, a different view point specifically for the student in question.

    In time, Frank looked up, staring at Albus with dull eyes.  He was usually more verbose then Alice - on some visits, he would ramble continuously.  It always made sense without context: a treatise on the ability of unicorn blood to heal, lectures on derivatives of polyjuice and occasionally questions - which he immediately answered - on various transfiguration charms.

    Albus was speaking of his worry for the children - a talk they had shared in the staff room many times before.  The children - who, in the war that was coming, would be in one of the safest and most dangerous places in the wizarding world.  _Hogwarts.  .  ._  There was only so much magic could do before stone too failed.  

   "I worry on how we can protect the children - even if the restrictions on what we can teach them were removed they would still be unprepared for what happens in a war zone."  Albus continued quietly, "But there is no where in the wizarding world that is safe - so we do what we must do."

Frank stood up abruptly, walking to the window.  It had grown dark while they had been in this room.  The sun had set, and the first stars rose in the dark sky.  The room was lit only by a few dim lamps - pre-set _lumus_ charms, Minerva knew.  It was possible to see several muggle villages from the window during the day.  In the darkness, they were nothing but pinpoints of light.

    "The stars are pretty."  Alice said suddenly, not turning from scribbling on the paper.

She was drawing tiny stars - six lines intersecting.  They twinkled as she raised the Magic Crayons and continued, filling the discoloured paper with the tiny lines till the page shone.

   "Yes.  Yes they are."  Albus said softly.

Frank tapped the window suddenly with one hand.  He slammed against it once - almost as if he was testing the strength of the glass.  He stopped and stared out, still and silent.  

   "The stars are everywhere."  Alice said; there was no blank space left on the page.  

   "Look at the darkness."  Frank said suddenly.

Minerva glanced out the window; the sky was filled with stars.  How did one look at darkness? It was not an object, it was an environment.  She glanced away and noticed that Albus had been staring out the window as well.

Frank began hitting the glass again - and again.  It was a continuous steady beat; the medi-witch opened the door, stepping inside with a worried frown.

   "I'm afraid visiting hours are over."  She said - that was a lie, visiting hours had ended a long time ago.

Albus nodded, "Thank you."  He said, and left the room, Minerva following again.

They sat in the coach and began the trip back to Hogwarts.  Outside, night had firmly fallen and the road they travelled on echoed with the sound of the coach's clawed feet and other night noises.

   "A wise man once said that the wheels of fate were moved by small hands."  Albus said quietly, "Another once was asked to plot, with diagrams and charts, the exact chain of events leading to his death."  Albus continued, "But it was the simpleton who looked up at the stars and pointed out the darkness."  

   "Large events, though significant do not always change the future."  Minerva mused, "Seventh year divination and the theory of time turners.  What did the simpleton see in the stars?"

   "Nothing."  Albus replied, "The simpleton saw nothing and the wise man saw only stars."  He smiled. 

=====================================================================

Note (15/08/2002) Update for minor changes in canon continuation and sentence structure.

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation?**


	3. Why I froze

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

Disclaimer: 

Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  

C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.  

Summary: With the threat of a resurrected Voldemort undermining the fragile peace of the wizarding world, the students of Hogwarts struggle with assignments, tests and runaway pegasuses (not to mention how to pronounce the plural of a peguses).  Fifth year at Hogwarts, amidst the complications of full blown adolescent hormones, romance and finally, tragedy.

Main Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley

Relationships: HG/RW HP/Cho HP/DM

Additional Information: 

The future of this piece of fiction will contain what is colloquially known as 'yaoi', 'shonen ai' and/or 'slash'.  For the uninitiated, this refers to 'homosexual relationships'.  Flames (in the form of constructive criticisms) are welcome, but not if the topic is an inclusion of slash themes in 'Without Question'.  My response will likely be a complete disregard of the flame in question or some form of cutting rejoinder - increased response based on level of prejudice displayed in flame. 

=====================================================================

**Chapter Two **- Why I froze

      Draco stared out of his bedroom window.  Below, he could see the formal gardens that surrounded Malfoy Manor.  A wind rustled through the bare branches of the trees, sending dead leaves scattering over the empty expanse.  

    He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had looked out and hadn't seen something: the peacocks his mother bred, the black swans that Great Uncle Mortimer had brought back from Underhill after his forty year absence or the gardeners.  He would have settled for the gardeners.  There was nothing alive out there.  

    It could have been winter if there had been snow on the ground, instead, the warmth of the sun against his skin mocked the sight before him.  There was nothing alive out there.

    Somebody - probably the new house elf - had placed a vase of roses from the conservatory (a place he hadn't stepped foot into for the past fortnight) on the table before the fireplace.  The scent wafted through the still air.  He stared at the white flowers; they had just been cut - years of gardening with his mother ensured he would recognise that fact.  By right, they should have remained fresh - part of the charm the house elves performed over all cuttings meant for display in the Manor - for at least another week.  

    As he watched, the petals fell, turning to yellowed parchment like husks before they touched the table.  The stalk of the roses turned from faintly green to black then collapsed, a thin trail of slime coating the crystalline surface of the vase.  

    It was a circular pattern of degeneration, death and isolation.  A chain - and collar - he could not escape.  

    Two years ago he would have ranted and railed - would not have stopped struggling.

    When had that changed? Two years ago the anger - the fire - would have remained; now there was.  .  .  _Nothing.  _  

    A year ago he would have remained silent even as he sought an escape.  True Slytherin - bend when you cannot hold upright.  

    _And today?_

    There was no more words to be said.

    _When did I break?_

    The fire crackled.  Above the mantle, his reflection stared back at him, "You asked for this."  It commented, "You do know that don't you?"

   "I didn't ask for this."  Draco whispered, "Not this."

   "You said yes."  His reflection said, smirking, "You wanted to be part of the war.  You wanted to rid the world of mudbloods and muggles.  You said you would do anything Voldemort required."

   "I didn't ask for _this_."

   "Semantics."  His reflection retorted, "By the way, you realise how absolutely pathetic you are being right now right? So desperate for company that you're talking to a magic mirror?"

   "Shut up."  He snapped.

His reflection smirked, "Make me."

Over the past fortnight, Draco had begun to take a serious dislike to its comments.  He glared at it - the Ministry of Magic might frown on underage wizards using their wands during the holidays but the glass of the mirror wasn't enchanted with a _relegare abrumpere_ charm.

   "I wouldn't."  the reflection said, arching one slender eyebrow - an echo of an action Draco used when he was lording his superior, unreachable position over a particularly immature and inane other - usually Weasley come to think of it.  

Draco picked up the vase, the slime squelched under his palm, loosening his grip.

   "If you break me, there will be nobody to talk to."  The mirror pointed out with a touch of smugness.

The glass and vase shattered together on impact; shards of glass fell to the thick plush of the carpet.  He walked over, and a part of his mind - one that refused to accept everything his fervent wishes had brought him - wondered idly how quickly the house elf would come to clean up the mess.

    There was still a shard of mirror remaining in the frame - fractured and spider-webbed with cracks.  His distorted image stared back at him: bulging eyes, corpse like cheeks, lips that pouted on one side but thinned on the other.  A lie - he knew.  He was still as he always had been on the surface.  Untouched, pale and perfect skin unmarked by anything - even the desperately sought after dark mark he had thought he would wear by now.  

   "Temper - temper."  The shard muttered chidingly then crumbled to dust as the charm enchanting the glass broke in a stream of golden sparks.

The room was silent but for the crackling of the fire.  Draco stood there and felt like crying.  He realised his foot was bleeding - he must have stepped on a shard of glass, hidden in the thick plush.  He stared at the dark red slowly sinking into the white of the carpet.

*

      _The great hall was draped in black - and he knew that he was at Hogwarts and though he knew it had happened before, it was happening once more.  The Leaving Feast.  His gaze turned to the Hufflepuff table, searching - though he knew what he would find.  There was no obvious missing seat - they had no set places - no actual sign that somebody who should have been there no longer was.  _

_    Cedric Diggory was dead.  _

_    He knew he was dreaming - knew that once he would have said that there had been no way he could have known his attempt to ensure that the rightful champion won the TriWizard Cup would have such fatal consequences.  But he should have known.  Somehow - he should have known.  He was the Boy Who Lived - they all treated him as if he was special, so why couldn't he have done something? He had struggled to bring back a body - surely he could have done the same to save Cedric's life?_

_    "- the sort of bravery few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honour him."  Dumbledore was staring at him, raising his goblet - a salute of acknowledgement._

_Around him, light glimmered off the raised goblets, gold caught against gold.  He could see his reflection as they stared at him, their eyes filled with respect and awe - and fear.  _

_    Hermione and Ron were smiling at him - but there was sadness in his eyes.  _

_    Cedric Diggory was dead.  _

_    Through the standing figures, he could see the Slytherin table - Draco Malfoy was sitting down, goblet untouched.  Draco turned to look at him; light shimmered in his silver eyes as he stood and pointed.  They were screaming now; he turned, slowly so slowly - the air was made of syrup - and on the table in front of him was Cedric._

_    He looked like he was sleeping - but there was nothing there, no movement, no light, no life.  They were still screaming, but they were staring at him not the body.  _

_    Ron and Hermione was still standing, goblets raised, unmoving as statues.  Trapped.  And reflected in the surface of their goblets, he saw Voldemort.  He was Voldemort.  _

_   "Harry -"  Hermione's voice, a whisper; she was smiling at him - and he saw in her eyes, in both their eyes, his reflection: a boy with messy hair and green eyes - "Harry, we're your friends."  She promised._

_In her eyes, he saw the green light; she fell, eyes dulled and Ron smiled at him._

_   "You'll come stay during the summer right, Harry? Mum misses you."  Ron asked, and he too fell as the green light flashed._

_Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him, silver eyes shards of ice - he could not see his reflection in them.  Could not see who Malfoy saw him as._

_   "That's what happens when they get too close."  Malfoy said softly - and that was strange because Malfoy never spoke, he sneered._

_   "Why?"  and that was strange too because it was almost as if he was having a conversation with Malfoy - which was impossible surely._

_   "It just does."  Malfoy said - and perhaps he said it sadly but that too was impossible, Malfoy was never sad, only mocking._

_He looked away and one by one, the other students fell in flashes of green light till only Dumbledore remained. _

_   "For this, I honour him."  Dumbledore drank from the goblet._

_Then he too vanished - and only Draco Malfoy remained._

_   "The Boy Who Cannot Die."  Malfoy said._

Harry jerked awake and stared in shock at the peeling plaster covering the ceiling of Dudley's spare bedroom at No 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.  A door slammed below, the vibration sent a scattering of plaster fell in a whirlwind from the ceiling.  Harry watched as it landed, dotting the worn carpet.  Outside, a bird was singing, he wondered briefly if Hedwig was all right before he rolled over and stared, unseeing at the opposite wall.  Light was streaming through the door frame, he could see the darker spots where the locks bolted it shut from the corridor. 

    The room was quiet - his own tiny, isolated corner of the world.  There was a brief flutter and something landed on his chest.  It was followed by another, and another - the morning mail had arrived.   

    _The boy who cannot die.  .  ._

*

      Lucius brushed a lock of hair - identical to his but for the taint of gold Narcissa's blood had added to the Malfoy silver.  He frowned as he fingered the strands - pity it was impossible to control hair colour without cosmetic charms.  Besides, Malfoy silver was more than colouring - it was strength.  He smiled as he stared down at his son - his little silver dragon.  Tempered and purified - Draco would one day make him very proud.  

    _Malfoy silver never tarnishes._  It wasn't the family motto, but it was something to live by. 

    He sat on the bed and stared down at his only son.  The growth spells had been applied with care by the best medi-wizards galleons could buy; no Malfoy had been short of six foot and Draco - for all his temper tantrums, lack of interest in nutrition and obsessive approach to activities - would not be found lacking.  Even if the growth had to be forced.

    That the growth spells had aided the Dark Lord's plans - _that _had been a bonus.  The fire cast flickering shadows against the white, marble walls.  The uncertain light caught the silver collar closed around Draco's slender neck.  He touched it, brushing back another lock of hair that curled around the torque.  It was cold beneath his fingers - silver as well.  Lord Voldemort was not one for unnecessary ornamentation. 

    Draco stirred; white lashes slowly lifting over eyes the same shade of grey as Lucius' own.  _I see my past in you, and you, my little dragon, see your future in me.  What must it be like to have that certainty?_  It was the one thing his father had been unable to give to him - and he alone of all the Malfoys before, had been able to gift to his dragon.

"F-father?"  there was a bewildered look in the grey eyes - one that Lucius had not seen for many years, "What -"  

Comprehension and memory returned - Draco had always been fast.  All Malfoys were fast on their feet - intelligence and beauty, as much inheritable traits as wealth, land and lineage.   

    One slender hand reached to touch the collar - Lucius stared at the too-translucent quality of the skin and frowned.  _I will have to schedule more force-feeding sessions this summer.  What is the use of growth spells if he looks like an emaciated corpse?_  

   "What - what is this?"  Draco asked, his voice rasped.

_And a voice-charm._  Lucius added to the growing list.

   "A gift from the Dark Lord."  Lucius said, watching as the flicker passed through his son's eyes, "Good.  Your control has improved."  He said - in times passed, every emotion had been clear in Draco's eyes, it had taken years to remove that particular trait.

   "What - does it do?"  Draco asked as he sat up, quickly pulling his clothes into position, tilting his chin up to look Lucius into the eye.

   "It controls your - talent."  Lucius drew out the word for what it was - a gift worthy of a Malfoy heir.

The Dark Lord had ensured Lucius and all his descendents a place within his inner circle with the gift baby Draco had received in the womb of his mother.  _From the hand of the Dark Lord himself - a spell and potion so powerful, it has never been ventured._  His pride in his name, in his lineage, in his abilities - had never been greater than on that day

    What greater - even more so than the coveted dark - mark than the ability to destroy without a wand?  Untraceable, silent, wandless magic that exceeded the power and threat that was the Unforgivable Curses.  The ability and opportunity to be a weapon the Dark Lord himself would wield.  

    _And all through you, my son.  My beautiful, fearless dragon._  Lucius smiled down at Draco - who ducked his head in acceptance of unspoken approval.

   "And that is all?" 

   "Of course."  Lucius said, "The Dark Lord's gifts are always for a purpose - and control is after all what you are made for."  He brushed a lock of hair out of Draco's eyes, "Is it not better this way, Draco? Accept our Lord's commands and his gifts, join our world and take your place at his side."  He gestured to the empty room, shadows flickering coldly against the white marble walls, "Despite your namesake, I know you hate the isolation."  

Dragons were solitary creatures by human standards - much like Malfoys had through the ages, they controlled and manipulated from a distance.  Draco would not be ill-named. 

    Draco stared at him, eyes grey and unreadable - the years Lucius had spent training him from that particular habit had indeed been employed in good time - and then nodded, accepting this gift - as he had so many others.  Lucius nodded - he knew his son - his little dragon - very well.

   "Sleep - when you wake, you will be back in your room once more.  Your mother shall be happy - it would have been unfortunate had you had to miss your own birthday party."  Lucius said.

Draco looked up, "Can I take the collar off?"  he asked quietly.

Lucius ignored this question as he had ignored its similar counterparts throughout the years.  He rose and swept out of the room, leaving it and the silence to his son.

Lucius freely admitted that he had been far more indulgent with his only child - far more so than his own father had been.  He should have done as other Malfoys had before, and created a new heir when the first imperfections appeared in Draco's character.  It had been a choice that had, eventually, been made on the spur of the moment.  The charmed paintings - Malfoys after all, did not kill their own - had been prepared.  Narcissa safely sedated to avoid unnecessary melodrama, and the memory charms on hand for immediate application.  But something had stopped him.

    The gift of the Dark Lord - and the honour it represented for his name and house - had not been the only reason.  Draco had been an endearing child for all his flaws.  Lucius had spent many years removing the ease of laughter and trust that had attracted so many to his baby son - Malfoys were commanding - they were never endearing.

The charmed painting flickered as Lucius pressed a hand on its surface.  The room was small, barely large enough to bear the three other paintings - each showing a different visage of the same reflection: the bedroom, the garden, the kitchen and the library.  He had grown as familiar with the magical rooms hidden within the paint oils as Draco - most of his son's life had been spent there, within the charmed enclosure that might have been where he spent his natural life had something not halted Lucius on that long ago night.  Most of Draco's training had occurred within those rooms - punishment, reward and sometimes necessity.  The end result; Lucius smiled proudly.  _My son - my beautiful, perfect little dragon._  

=====================================================================

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

**- reuploaded 26/09/2002 to correct upload problems with chapter layout**


	4. The Boy Who Cannot Die

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

Disclaimer: 

Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  

C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.  

Summary: With the threat of a resurrected Voldemort undermining the fragile peace of the wizarding world, the students of Hogwarts struggle with assignments, tests and runaway pegasuses (not to mention how to pronounce the plural of a peguses).  Fifth year at Hogwarts, amidst the complications of full blown adolescent hormones, romance and finally, tragedy.

Main Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley

Relationships: HG/RW HP/Cho HP/DM

Additional Information: 

The future of this piece of fiction will contain what is colloquially known as 'yaoi', 'shonen ai' and/or 'slash'.  For the uninitiated, this refers to 'homosexual relationships'.  Flames (in the form of constructive criticisms) are welcome, but not if the topic is an inclusion of slash themes in 'Without Question'.  My response will likely be a complete disregard of the flame in question or some form of cutting rejoinder - increased response based on level of prejudice displayed in flame. 

=====================================================================

**Chapter Three **- The Boy Who Cannot Die

      Breakfast was a silent affair.  Harry spooned more bacon onto the serving plate and returned to the stove, absent-mindedly cracking three eggs into the frying pan.  The sizzle of fat and oil merged with the slow twitch of the newspaper Vernon Dursley was reading.  There was a brief click as Petunia Dursley put her fork and spoon back onto the plate.

    "Where's Dudley?"  Vernon finally asked, putting his papers down with a rustle, he frowned, glancing around the kitchen.

Harry didn't turn from the stove, lifting the frying pan off the fire with the expertise of long practise.

   "Still asleep - he does love to sleep in, does Dudley."  Petunia replied absently.

Harry watched as the eggs slid smoothly onto the ready plate, leaving a translucent trail of grease.  

Vernon frowned, "It's almost eight.  If we want to get to the amusement park before the lines get to long we'll have to leave now."  He remarked, "Go wake him up, Harry."  

Harry put the frying pan onto the stove, turning off the fire with an even motion.  He stared blankly at his uncle for several seconds, almost as if his mind was catching up with what it had heard, before he nodded and left the kitchen.

    Petunia watched him leave, a frown marring her plain face, "I don't trust him."  She said finally, "What did they _do_ to him?"  

The summer had been - unnerving.  After four years of unnatural and unpleasant surprises - from the pig's tail and its expensive removal through to the incident with the tongue last year - the sudden absence of any unnatural strangeness had been decidedly.  .  .  Disquieting.

    Petunia had waited - as she always did - but there had been - nothing.  The owls still came of course - but only in the evening and they never stayed for longer than a few seconds.  She had stood outside one day, and watched as they soared past the second bedroom window, white slips of paper sliding through the small crack, before they left, filling the night air with hoots.  Nobody had noticed - one of two reasons why Vernon hadn't complained.

    The second reason would be, of course, Harry's behaviour.

    That too was unnerving.  Harry had always reminded Petunia of her younger sister.  At times, when those familiar eyes turned towards hers in anger, frustration, hurt or obedience, she could see Lily echoed in their depths.  Harry might have some parts of his father in him, but all Petunia ever saw was disquieting, rebellious Lily.  She had gotten used to finding herself face to face with Lily over and over again for fourteen years.

    Lily might have died, selfishly leaving her son with Petunia - but she had never left.  From the moment Harry had first begun to talk and walk, Lily had come back - her green eyes silently accusing Petunia.  _Should have stopped my idiot parents from letting her go to that place.  Should have made her go to the local like I did.  Should have made her be normal - like I had every day since we were children.  But I didn't - and she died._

    So Petunia Dursley had lived with the spectre of her little sister for fourteen years.  And had expected to live with it for as long as it took for her unwanted nephew to leave her home and never come back.  Duty completed, the guilt and burden would surely leave her shoulders then.  

    But this year, Harry had returned, and when he had raised his eyes to hers that first day - Lily had vanished.  The colour was the same but something had been missing.  Or something had been added.  _There was no anger.  There was - nothing._

    Something had happened while Harry had been at his school.  Something that had - taken Lily away.  

    Not that Petunia cared.  Of course she didn't care.  She didn't care on whit - not so long as Harry did what he was told, was quiet and didn't annoy Vernon or bully Dudley.  

    But -

    It was unnerving; how the boy had changed. 

      "What's for breakfast?"  Dudley announced as he landed in his seat.

Petunia jerked from her thoughts and smiled fondly at her son; the past year had been good for Dudley.  He had finally reached a stage of his diet when indulging in his favourite foods had become feasible once more.  Bacon and eggs, sausages and hamburgers had returned to their weekly menus.  Vernon's temper had definitely improved on discovering that fact.  Not to mention that Dudley's grades had improved - even in sports, which had been a first.  

    _Life is good._  Petunia thought firmly as she watched Dudley eagerly scoop food onto an overflowing plate.  _Life is good._  

    Vernon started talking on the planned outing to the local amusement park and Dudley eagerly joined in with suggestions on rides and the type of food he wanted to have for lunch.  Petunia sat back, soaking in the tranquillity of her family.

    _Family._  She glanced across the table; the chair beside Dudley - the one that habitually held Harry - was empty.  

   "Where's Harry?"  Petunia asked sharply.

Dudley paused in his energetic conversation with his father, "Harry? He's upstairs with those letters of his again."  

Vernon frowned, "Those damn owls -"  

   "Oh stop complaining about those owls, Dad."  Dudley interrupted, looking bored, then paused, looking alarmed, "He's not coming with us right?"  Dudley demanded, "He'll ruin everything -!"

   "No - no.  Of course not."  Vernon immediately reassured Dudley, "This treat is just for us."  

Petunia leaned across to pat her son's hand, "Yes, Dudley dearest.  Just the family."  She said with a smile, "Now eat up or we'll end up waiting forever in all those lines."  She added.

*

      The door slammed shut and silence descended onto No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.  Harry remained where he was, perched on his bed, staring out the window.  Below, Vernon Dursley's newest company car rolled smoothly from the driveway and made its way through the golden haze of early morning.  

    In times passed, Harry might have felt some anger - or even sorrow - at being left out of this, the latest treat for 'Dearest Dudley'.  All he felt now, however, was - _Relief.  Is this relief?_ Perhaps a better word was exhaustion.

    He was - tired.  That was, in itself, a good word.  Tired of the simplistic nastiness that was the only link between himself and his sole cousin.  Tired of the barely hidden anger in his Uncle's eyes.  Tired of his Aunt's watchful gaze.  They were waiting, he knew.  Waiting and watching for the first sign of magic - something (or anything) to continue the battle that had existed all his life between him and the Dursleys.  

    He had returned that summer, listened to the orders - tinged with that waiting, watchful note - and bore through Dudley's tactics at getting him into trouble.  And suddenly - had found that he didn't _care_.  The petty orders, the sly pushes and kicks.  They didn't _matter._  

    _"Kill the spare."_

    He could still hear Voldemort's voice, still see Cedric's body lying there.  

    Cedric Diggory was _dead_ - people were _dying_.  And it was _his fault_.  What did it matter if Dudley kicked him under the table or that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wanted him to weed the garden, cook breakfast and clean the living room? 

      The Dursleys' car had long since vanished over the edge of Privet Drive.  Harry turned from his vigil at the window and stared at the stack of letters the morning mail had delivered.

    The stack sat on Dudley's old desk - its scored surface symbol of the other's progression through primary school.  A bowl (delegated to the trash can after Dudley had dropped it into the sink, causing hair line cracks to appear all through the fine china) filled with water contained the five howlers he had received in the past week.  The water bubbled, occasionally discharging a string of bubbles that released several muted words when popped.  

    He dipped his hand into the water, wincing at the warmth and drew out the first howler.  It exploded open as soon as it touched the air; the voice echoed through the house though largely incoherent - perhaps due to its prolonged dunking.  This one had been submerged for several days.

   " - EVIL AS VOLDEMORT - "  garbled roar and several incoherent curses, " - HEIR - SLYTHERIN - KILLED - FAULT -"  

The parchment dissolved, too water logged to continue; Harry stared at the bowl of water.  Decisively he reached to the other pile and pulled out one with his name penned in a familiar hand.

_Harry -_

_Know that this is earlier than normal but Mum and Dad agreed that you really should be with anybody other than those muggles this year.  Dad thinks he can get Dumbledore's permission so you want to come over early this year? We can celebrate your birthday properly for once.  _

_Ron_

_PS - whatever you do, don't eat anything the twins send you.  No - really.  _

      For several seconds, the familiar surge of excitement, relief and hope flashed through him.  Spending his summer with the Weasley family would be - _Fantastic.  Better than fantastic._

    A stream of bubbles exploded and a ghostly voice of some wizard or witch he had never met howled incoherently.  

    Harry stared at the letter then pulled out a scrap of paper and a quill.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Mr. Weasley is going to ask your permission for me to visit the Weasleys early this summer.  Could you please refuse permission? I don't think the Weasleys will be safe if I'm with them._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

He tied the letter quickly to a confused Hedwig's leg and sent her before he could stop himself.  _It doesn't matter.  Nothing matters.  Not so long as nobody else dies because of me._  As ghostly as the howler bubbles exploding in the still air, he could hear the words from his dream -  _.  .  .  when they get too close.  .  .  The Boy Who Cannot Die.  .  ._

=====================================================================

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out my plot holes?**


	5. Letters and Curses

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  

C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.  

**Additional Information**: The future of this piece of fiction will contain what is colloquially known as 'yaoi', 'shonen ai' and/or 'slash'.  For the uninitiated, this refers to 'homosexual relationships'.  Flames (in the form of constructive criticisms) are welcome, but not if the topic is an inclusion of slash themes in 'Without Question'.  My response will likely be a complete disregard of the flame in question or some form of cutting rejoinder - increased response based on level of prejudice displayed in flame. 

=====================================================================

**Chapter Four** - Letters and Curses

_Hermione -_

_Have you heard anything from Harry? I think those muggles aren't allowing him to read his mail again.  I haven't heard from him since the start of summer.  _

_Dad's been trying to get Dumbledore to let us have Harry over early this year - rather than in the last couple of weeks like always.  No luck though - Dumbledore keeps saying no.  With what's been happening lately Mum and Dad think that Dumbledore might be worried about his safety.  I don't get why he's safer with those muggles then with us though.  I mean, with Mum, Dad and Percy, there's three fully qualified wizards and witches here at the Burrow.  Five when Bill and Charlie come visit._

_Still hoping we can have him over for his birthday.  That way he can finally celebrate it properly.  Want to come over?_

_Ron_

      "Hermione?" Doctor Amanda Granger stared thoughtfully at her only daughter, "Hermione? Dear - your breakfast is getting cold."  

Hermione Granger, aged fifteen and three quarters, looked up from the letter she had been reading and stared first at her mother than the toast she had been holding absently in her hand, "What?" 

   "You've been holding that piece of toast for the past five minutes, dear."  Doctor Kevin Granger said mildly from where he was filling his mug with more coffee, "Something important?" 

   "What?"  Hermione glanced at the letter, "Oh! No - well, not really."  She said hastily at the worried glances her parents were throwing her way.

   "Anything we can do to help?"  Amanda asked, Hermione shook her head and took a bite of the slice of toast in her hand, "It isn't about -"  her mother paused, then added with a slight smile, "Boys is it, Hermione?"

   What followed might have been considered amusing (complete with choking, coughing and rapid grasps for water from Hermione and accompanied by laughter from Kevin Granger - who always had a rather warped sense of humour for a dentist in his daughter's opinion) had the person in question not been Hermione.

    Wiping tears of pain from her eyes, Hermione stared at her parents, "What?"

   "Your vocabulary seems a trifle redundant this morning, Hermione-dear."  Kevin remarked as he stopped chuckling.

   "Oh stop it, Kevin."  Amanda said, before turning concerned eyes to her daughter, "You have been corresponding rather frequently with Ronald Weasley this summer, haven't you?"  

   "Well - yes - but -"  Hermione choked off her protests and carefully put the letter and the toast back onto the table.

_This is ridiculous - and it isn't even as if I have anything guilty to feel about all this._  She thought, struggling to regain equilibrium.  _Or that I'm even interested in Ron._  

   "I have been writing a lot to Ron this summer."  Hermione said finally, "But it isn't - like that."  She added, and cursed her cheeks for flushing at the glance her parents shared, "It's about - well, Harry."

   "Harry - that little boy with those terrible glasses?"  Kevin frowned, "Or was that the little boy with the camera?"

_When did they meet Colin Creevey?_ Hermione shook her head, "Harry's the little - the boy with the glasses.  And the scar."  Hermione said, "He's - well, he hasn't written to either of us this summer."  

_Which is not so different from all the other years we've known him._  She didn't add the thought - there were some things her very much mundane parents did not know about the world she was a part of.  One of which was the reasons why Harry's less than healthy home life with his relatives was so necessary.  _Not that I understand either - but Professor Dumbledore must have had a reason to put him with the Dursleys._  

    Logically she knew it probably had something to do with wards and protection spells that kept him safe during the summer months they spent away from Hogwarts.  _Sometimes I wonder if it's to give him some sort of balance between the adoration everybody in the wizarding world gives him for being the Boy Who Lived._  She had read some psychology books last year when Harry had written asking for food - 

    "Hermione?"

Hermione blinked and realise she hadn't heard a single word her mother had said, "I'm sorry?"

Amanda Granger sighed, glancing at her watch, "I'll have to talk to you tonight then."  She said, "We're going to be late if we don't leave now."  

_Dear Ron -_

_I think Professor Dumbledore knows what he's doing.  And especially with what's been happening lately (Harry doesn't get the Prophet delivered - does he know about the attacks? If he doesn't, I don't think we should tell him.  He's got enough problems as it is) it really might not be safe for him to leave his relatives yet.  _

_It'd be nice if we could throw a birthday party for him for once though.  I'd love to come visit - but what if Harry isn't allowed to come?_

_How is everything? Is Percy all right? I wasn't sure what to do when I saw his name as one of the Ministry officials caught in the edge of the last Death Eater attack._

_Hermione_

*

_Dear Hermione -_

_Dumbledore said that he can't let Harry leave those muggles at all this summer! I'm writing to Professor Lupin and Snuffles.  This isn't fair!_

_Percy is all right - but he won't stop talking about it.  To hear him, it's as if he defeated You-Know-Who or something instead of just run screaming away like the rest of them.  Mum enchanted the clock so it'll flash if any of us are in mortal danger though.  Fred and George played around with the charm and it started flashing on and off yesterday night every time Percy tried to go to the toilet.  _

_Mum made them eat some of their old canary creams to keep them out of trouble while she fixed the charm.  There's feathers _everywhere_.  But at least it kept them out of my room so I could write to you.  _

_Ron_

_PS - What do you think we should get Harry for his birthday this year?_

      "Awww - is ickle Ronniekins writing to his _girlfriend_?"  Fred - still dropping yellow feathers in his path - asked, peering over Ron's shoulder.

   "Sod off Fred."  Ron said as he scrawled his signature across the parchment and looked around for his mail owl, Pig.

   "Hey George - Ronnie finally got himself a girlfriend!"  Fred yelled.

   "Awwww.  .  .  Our baby brother finally growing up?"

Ron snarled, looked up and burst into laughter.  George, unlike Fred, was still half canary - from waist down.    

    "I thought the canary creams were suppose to wear off after several minutes?"  Ron finally choked out.

Fred rubbed the back of his head, "Mum made us eat some of the experimental ones."

   "They're supposed to have a delayed reaction transfiguration -"  George continued.

    "Except something didn't work right."  Fred finished, "So you're going to have to go to Diagon Alley with me so I can get some new ingredients."  

   "Why should I?"  Ron demanded, crossing his arms.

Fred pressed one hand to his chest, "Our own brother -"

   " - refusing his aid -"

   " - even though we selflessly agreed to -"

   " - buy new robes for him."  George finished.

   "New robes?"  Ron blinked, suspicious, "What new robes?"

   "Mum says you need new formal robes -"  Fred began.

   "And since Weasley's Wheezes did well this year, we said we'd buy them for you -"  George continued.

   "But only if you help us buy new ingredients from Tantara's Potion Emporium."  They chorused.

   "Why can't you do it by yourself?"  

   "George is still half a canary,"  Fred pointed out.

   "Mum told Madam Tantara never to let us buy anything - ever - from the Emporium after the last explosion."  George added.

Ron sat in the chair, staring at his two older brothers thoughtfully, then sighed.  _Well, at least I get new robes out of this._  

New clothes in a family of hand-me-downs (except for the Christmas jumpers, which didn't count in his opinion) were not something to ignore.  Especially when there was no mention of becoming the magical guinea pig for Fred and George's latest experiments.  _Damn - I just know I'm going to regret this._

   "Fine."  Ron said, "Just let me send this to Hermione."

*

      If there had been a door, it would have slammed shut.  Instead, there was only silence.  

    Draco disliked silence - had hated it for as long as he could remember.  He hated the lack of noise, the stillness that surrounded him, the absolute absence of movement - of life.  He had thrown tantrums, argued continuously and once tried to apparate himself out of the isolation of his 'rooms' (with the spectacular result of a near splinching and no less than eight warnings for underage use of wands).  

    This intense hatred, he knew, was the exact opposite of what his father had intended.  Dragons, as Draco had so often been told, thrived in isolation.  Dragons lived in the silence of the mind, the stillness of the air.  They were stone, marble and ice, shattered only by sudden, decisive motion.

    Dragons, Draco had discovered at age eleven, were animals with the abrupt intelligence of the common garden variety gnome.  If there were any of the variety his father so obviously revered - then he had as yet to hear a rumour of their existence.  

    _And here's another landmark.  At age fifteen I finally figure out that I'm named for something that doesn't exist._  Draco thought as he slowly sat down in front of the desk and stared at the stack of books waiting for his attention.  

    _I hate summer vacation._

      The mirror had been repaired since his temper tantrum; the shards of glass removed from the carpet and a replacement vase placed on the waiting table, complete with new arrangement.  The flowers were dusted with dew; the water shimmered, evaporating, as he stared at it.  Hastily, Draco turned away.

    The abrupt motion made the collar slide, falling to the hollow of his neck.  He touched it - and wondered what would have happened during the 'birthday celebrations' if he had removed it.  _Probably wouldn't be back in here at least._

    The collar was - less than perfect in its ability to curtail the Dark Lord's 'gift'.  _Is it disloyal to call it a curse?_ Pansy's cheek had still born ash-like burn marks after Professor Snape had administered a hastily found healing potion.  _You've finally succeeded Father - doesn't matter if your dragon hates being alone, I either stay atop my sodding 'mountaintop' or surround myself with burning corpses._  Burning skin - as he had discovered last night to Pansy Parkinson's screaming fit - smelled dreadful.

_To be a weapon the Dark Lord himself would yield.  .  ._  He had grown up with those words; it had become as much a source of pride as bearing the Malfoy name.  _I always thought Father meant I would have a place among the Death Eaters.  Lead the troops, be a general like Great-Grandfather Malfoy_.  

    Somehow the distinction of being a weapon had less - panache - when it turned out you were _actually_ the weapon.  _There's no elegance in killing by accident.  I might as well be one of those muggle weapons.  What do they call them? Buns? No - that thing Sirius Black was supposed to be using - 'guns'.  Right - no style at all, like throwing fire into a gnome's home.  Kills or misses completely._

    Especially when there was no actual way to control the gift - except a collar.  _At least I can hide it under my robes._  

    He stared down at the books; an unseen, unfelt wind ruffled the parchment in warning.  He knew they had all been enchanted with anti-burn charms.  _All the good it'll do at Hogwarts -_

    Which, he rather thought, was the point.  _The Dark Lord must want Hogwarts rather badly.  It's the only symbol - other than Potter - left since the Prophet stopped supporting Minister Fudge's 'You-Know-Who has definitely not returned' statements.  If Hogwarts falls, then the people will have nothing left to believe in - other than Potter and he'll be dead in seconds without Dumbledore to save him anyway.  Everybody will be so scared Father and the others won't even have to do much more than pose a little before they fall into line.  Good thing too since they can't exactly recruit any new Death Eaters other than us children.  Which adds a whole seventeen new recruits at most in the next three years.  Unless they somehow manage to draw in several of those stuck up Ravenclaws._

    He had thought it would be a problem he could proudly solve for the Dark Lord - though the precise nature of _how_ had been something he had yet to fully figure out.  He had thought at that time that he had another three years to fully determine a stunning plan that would gain the approval of not only the Dark Lord but his father.  He had thought at least that he would be able to aid in the strategies of the coming war.  _I thought too much._

    _A weapon to be wielded._  No mind required - merely the ability to obey.  He touched the collar, running his hand against the smooth curves.  It had been a gift - his father had proudly announced this fact to the waiting ensemble yesterday night.  They had looked suitably awe-struck.  His father had pulled his robes open to reveal the collar, lying snug within the arch of his collarbone.  It had been one of the few times in his life he had worn muggle clothes.  Several of the guests had touched it, awed and reverent.  

    _Not just a Malfoy - _the_ Malfoy._  

    He had been so proud of the gift - of the preference the Dark Lord had shown not only to his family but to _him_.  

    _The Malfoy dragon - that's what they'll call me._  Draco's lips curved into a grimace;_ Father named me for this intelligent, isolated, fearsome beast that I've only ever met in fairy tales._  He wondered if his name had been a suggestion of the Dark Lord - _After all, according to that fool Hagrid, dragons are fiercely loyal and obedient to their clan-groups.  Able to violently kill anything that threatens._  

    He stared down at the stack of books and parchment - and realised that there was at least one month remaining to his summer vacation.  One that, to all intents, his father would see he spent within his 'rooms'.  _Maybe if I point out that dragons have clans, congregate in large groups and generally avoid spending time alone except when they've chosen a mate for the season, he'll let me out early._  

    A decidedly hysterical laugh fought to escape Draco's throat.  _I hate this - I hate being alone.  I hate this - I hate this - I hate this -!_

    _I wish Mother was back from France.  At least then she'd let me out into the gardens every day._  As much as he disliked being soundly told off for getting dirt on himself by his father, at least there was _noise_ outside.  _Birds.  Wind.  The gardeners and those thrice-damned peacocks.  Even if they smell something dreadful._

    But Narcissa Malfoy was in France - shopping or whatever it was that women did (Lucius had never actually gone further than shopping in his explanation for Marcissa's absence).  Which meant, Draco knew, that he was trapped in his 'rooms' till he learned to control his 'gift' to a level where those around him stopped accidentally bursting into flames.  

_    Is it disloyal to call this a curse?_

    The parchment fluttered once more; Draco sighed and opened the first book.  _I miss Hogwarts._

=====================================================================

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? **


	6. Gits and Mudbloods

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **Warning: **slash themes (see previous chapters for detailed warning and summary of story)

C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.  

=====================================================================

**Chapter Five**: Gits and Mudbloods

      Diagon Alley was filled with bustling crowds of robed witches and wizards.  Children ran underfoot, laughing, screaming and happily enjoying the warm summer day.  

Fred sniffed the air and grinned broadly, "Ah - can you smell it, brother dear?"  he declared as the two Weasley brothers stepped through the opening, barely noticing the wall swirl close behind them.

   "No.  Can't say that I can."  Ron muttered, glancing around with a wary eye at the crowd of shoppers.

It was always a good idea to keep an eye out for potential places to run when in the company of the twins (even if they were currently divided by two and half a canary).  One never knew when one might have need for shelter.  _Or somewhere safe to laugh from._

   "What? Can't you smell it? The business opportunities."  Fred grinned as he pulled out a small bag from a pocket in his robes, "Just imagine the combination available to us.  Little children, free samples - and before you can say 'Percy is a stuck up bore' a whole new generation of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes customers are born -!"

Ron rolled his eyes, "Just give me your list, you git."  He said, "That was the deal.  I get the ingredients, you buy me new robes and anything else you want to do you can get in trouble for."

   "Where did we go wrong?"  Fred sighed theatrically as he dug inside his robes once more and produced a tightly wound scroll and a small (though hefty) bag of coins, "Our own brother - a spoil sport! The shame -!"

Ron ignored Fred who was gathering a crowd of small children with his theatrics and unwound the scroll.  The parchment unrolled rapidly, bouncing lightly on the ground; he groaned.  _I hope Madam Tantara isn't busy._

      Madam Tantara was dressed in yellow robes with flickering blue and green butterflies; a middle aged witch that seemed remarkably out of place amidst the damp, cold interior of the Emporium.  Ron wordlessly handed her the parchment (now crumpled as he hadn't bothered rolling it back up) and tried to breath through his mouth.  There was something about potion ingredients en masse - it always smelled.  .  .  Well _dead_.  

    Madam Tantara gingerly took the scroll (which was admittedly stained with leftover ink from his fingers), eyes widening as it unrolled off the counter.  

   "Well, you aren't Fred and George.  And you're too young to be Perceival, Charles or William."  She said finally, "So you must be the youngest Weasley boy - Ronald."  

Ron nodded, and wondered if he would spend the rest of his life being identified by a process of elimination.  _At least when I'm with Harry they know who I am immediately - after all, there's only two 'best friends of the Boy Who Lived'.  And even in the dark there's no way I can be mistaken for Hermione._  

   "And this would be -?"  Madam Tantara continued, tapping her wand against the scroll, "Summer potions homework?"  

_I knew I'd regret this._  The question was not so much whether or not he wanted to be dragged down with Fred and George in this latest escapade but if new formal robes were really worth Molly Weasley's anger.  _Hah! Mum's the one who made me wear lace in the first place!_

   "Yup.  Trying to get extra marks in potions."  _Merlin's rod strike me now._

Madam Tantara arched one eyebrow then smiled, "Tell Fred and George that Irvine enjoyed the volcano mice."  She said, and tapped her wands several times on the scroll, "I should have everything ready for you by lunch time."

      Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions was just around the corner from Tantara's Potions Emporium.  _Convenient that_.  Ron thought as he jingled the bag of coins and grinned.  After all, payment was Fred and George's problem, not his.

    And promptly slumped.  _Yeah - and when Mum and Dad find out, there'll be hell to pay as well._

    Still, no harm in looking at the robes.  _No harm dreaming._

      Madam Malkin's hadn't changed since Ron had followed his mother and Bill into the store seven years ago.  Bill had needed new robes and as the eldest, there hadn't been any hand-me-downs to use.  The rolls of cloth still gathered dust in the window and the tiny stools were still scattered in front of several wall-to-ceiling mirrors.  

    "Yes? Can I help you? Oh - a Weasley.  Been a while since I've seen one of you in here."  Madam Malkin said with a slight smile, "How can I help you -"  she frowned, "You must be -"

   "Ron."  Ron said; _I wonder if Hermione was joking when she said there were things muggles can do to hair that a _finite incantum_ won't reverse._

   "Ron Weasley."  Madam Malkin waved her wand and a nearby stool hopped over, "You would be here about your formal robes."  She paused at Ron's shocked expression, "Your brother popped in."

The stool was yellow, with painted feathers.  _Oh bugger._

   "Ah - what did Fred do?"

   "Before or after giving a free sample of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' canary creams to little Kyrie Krystal?"  Madam Malkin chuckled, and waved her wand and the stool hopped up to Ron's foot, "He paid for a pair of new formal robes - Hogwarts approved of course - and Kyrie Krystal left hastily to feed some canary creams to her older brother.  Stand up straight, Mister Weasley and we'll see if we can find some formal styles to suit that tall frame of yours."

*

_Dear Harry Potter -_

_I know that this letter might not reach you - but I'm hoping it will because I wanted to tell you that I don't care what my sister said about you and that boy at Hogwarts.  I probably won't ever meet you because my parents want me to go to Beauxbatons next year (when I turn eleven).  So I want you to know how I feel now.  In case You-Know-Who does something._

_I love you.  And I don't care what anybody says about you killing that boy either.  You should just tell them that you're the Boy Who Lived and you'd never do things like that.  _

_Anyway, I just thought you should know that I love you._

_Debra Cox_

      The words had been written in red and gold ink.  It flashed in the sun-strewed room, alternating colours.  He wasn't sure how to react; finally, he folded the letter back up and placed it on the desk, reaching into the bowl for a howler.  

    He understood hate, anger and rage.  Love, affection and adoration remained mysteries that mystified and unnerved him.

*

      "That should do it."  Madam Malkin said, waving her wand to complete the last binding charm, "What do you think?"

Ron stared at his reflection in the mirror; his reflection grinned back and smoothed an unseen wrinkle in the robes, "It's good."  _No lace! No lace!_ A voice was clamouring in the back of his mind.

    The bell over the door rang briefly as a wizard in black robes entered the store.  

   "Be right over!"  Madam Malkin called as she gestured Ron off the stool with an authorative: "Get back into your robes, Mr. Weasley - and remember to close the change room door fully this time."  Ron flushed red and the lady chuckled, "I'll be right there to wrap everything up for you."

_    No lace! No lace!_ Ron pushed open the door leading to the small change room.  His robes lay, a puddle of faded grey and black, on the floor.  _No lace!_ There was a yellow canary feather clinging to the hem.  _Wonder if George changed back yet._

    He could hear Madam Malkin talking to the wizard outside the change room.

   " - do today for you? We just got a new shipment of spell-bound blue.  Guaranteed to retain colour through several thousand _finite incantums_."

The wizard had a low soft voice, Ron strained, automatically eavesdropping.  _Well every other time somebody holds a conversation nearby these past few years, there's been a secret of some sort involving You-Know-Who._  He mused; eavesdropping on unsuspecting adults had become a habit since he had met Harry.

   " - serving certain customers."  The wizard said.

There was a brief pause, "I beg your pardon?"  Madam Malkin asked, her voice - previously light and flattering was stilted and flat.

A cold shiver ran down Ron's back and his hands stilled at their task.

   "You heard me."  The wizard said in a louder voice, "You are not to continue selling robes to mudbloods.  Especially school robes."

_What the -?_

    Alienation of the unknown and new was a fact of life in the wizarding world.  Reform came slowly, occasionally by passing certain segments of society completely.  It was, Hermione had started lecturing once, an expected by-product of the close knit and secular wizarding world.  There were, after all, only a million wizards and witches in the United Kingdom - less when you didn't include squibs and children.  Not that Ron really thought about any of this - other than when the git, Malfoy, started mouthing obscenities at Hermione of course.

    What made Ron pause in shock at the hatred emanating from the barely audible conversation was its very oddity.  Bigotry was known - but rarely heard.  Outright exclamations of greater lineage were considered 'in bad taste' - and as the main culprits of prejudice were the intensely secluded pure-blooded families, 'bad taste', and its anthesis, 'good taste' were truly powerful phrases.  

    "And why, sir, should I even consider cutting off the majority of my business?"  Madam Malkin demanded crisply, "Especially from a man who is not a regular customer to my establishment?"

There was another pause, producing a silence that frankly, made the skin on Ron's neck crawl.  There was a rustle of cloth, and a sharp intake of breath.

    "Do you understand now?"  the wizard's voice was harsh and low; there was a strange hissing sound - almost like a snake except oddly echoing.  __

    The formal robes flapped open over his chest as Ron dropped to his knees and gently pushed the door of the change room open.  His right hand scrabbled behind him, searching through the pile his faded robes made, finding the length of his wand tangled deep within one of the pockets.  He could see Madam Malkin reflected in the floor to ceiling mirrors lining the walls.  She looked scared. 

    "What - what do you want?"  Madam Malkin _sounded _scared, "I -"

The wizard was close to the counter, only the edge of his robe visible around the corner.  

    "You will refuse to do business with mudbloods.  We do not care what excuses you use - only that you not help camouflage their lineage with traditional garb."

_'Traditional garb'?_

    The wizard was holding something in his hand; Ron strained to make it out - it glinted in the dull sunlight streaming through the dust-streaked windows of Madam Malkin's store.

    The world shifted as he realised it was a mask.  A plain, steal mask meant to be fitted over a face.  _Blimey -! That's a Death Eater!_

*

      It had come to Hermione's attention that Crookshanks had fully immersed himself in the muggle lifestyle.  For a witch's familiar and one suspected of being at least half kneazle, Crookshank could weasel snacks as adeptly as any much loved tom.  

    "Who's a sweetie then?"  she murmured, rubbing his head as she dropped a slice of ham into his bowl - and promptly felt extremely silly.

Crookshanks gave what she had come to recognise as the cat (_Catty? Oh that's just going too far with a pun Hermione._) version of a grin and dug into the sandwich meat.

    She leaned against the kitchen counter, staring out into the garden.  The neighbour's son had come home from university for the vacation and had taken up gardening.  Across the street, a group of children - no older then ten at her best guess - were playing what looked like hockey.  Early afternoon sunlight lit the kitchen with a warmth unimitatable with central heating.  

    _Looking out there, it's hard to believe that You-Know-Who is alive and Harry's life - all of our lives really - are in danger._  One of the children whooped and the neighbour's son started watering the hedge.  _Hard to imagine there's a whole other world where children play games on flying brooms and little sticks can do more damage in less time than a badly driven car._  

    After the hectic school year - filled with life-or-death situations, heart-wrenching adventures and the usual mudblood taunts from Draco - it was moments like this that made Hermione question her sanity.  _Hard to believe in magic when I can hear old American re-runs on the set, and the next doors keep playing the latest pop tunes on the radio._  

    Times like these when she needed to go through her school notes to remind her that yes, she hadn't somehow lost her sanity and imagined the past four years.__

Hermione jerked out of her thoughts as a large black barn owl swooped into the kitchen via an open window.  _And then things like these happen._  

    She recognised the black owl from Hogwarts.  Though she would have come to the conclusion that it was part of the fleet of mail owls Hogwarts kept as soon as it dropped the letter emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest into her hands.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I would like to request you and your parents' immediate attendance to a private meeting two days hence.  Please tender your ability to attend by attaching your reply to the waiting owl._

_Should you accept, you will be met by one of the staff members from Hogwarts recognisable and trusted by you at precisely 7 am of the day.  After two hours - to ensure polyjuice transformations are an impossibility, you and your parents will be transported to the meeting place._

_I would request that you not mention this meeting to any friends (including Mister Potter and Mister Weasley), colleagues or relatives other than your parents as security is of the utmost importance.  _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonnagal_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_Head of Gryffindor House_

      Hermione stared at the letter.  Beneath her fingers, the parchment felt thick and rich.  There was a charm on the Hogwarts crest, the creatures entwined on the shield moved as if they were alive; as she watched the lion yawned and snarled soundlessly at the Slytherin serpent.  

    _Then something like this happens.  .  ._

    Idly, she wondered what Ron and Harry would have said.

*

      _Oh shit.  What the hell do I do?_

The wizard's Death Eater mask glistened in the dusty beams of sunlight like a taunting smirk.  Coward, those sightless, black eyes seemed to whisper.  

    Here was a situation in need of a take-no-prisoners-and-save-the-day Gryffindor.  Here was a maiden (or at least _madam_) in distress in need of some reckless action.  _And I'm cowering in the change room with no idea what to do._

    His wand was slick in the palm of his hands - a reassuring presence were it not for the underage use of magic rule that kept thundering in his head.  The tempo was matched only by the thudding of his heart and fear in his throat.  This was _nothing_ like playing wizard's chess with real players in first year.  Or facing down Sirius Black in third year.  Or watching Harry fly around the dragon like so many buzzing bees at a picnic in fourth year.  _A Death Eater!_

    A Death Eater threatening Madam Malkin, the robes maker.  _What the hell do I do?_  He wished Harry and Hermione were here with him.  At least Hermione would have an idea of what to do.  _Good old Hermione - she always knows what to do.  Like back in first year with Fluffy, and that basilisk in second year, and Sirius Black in third and -_

_    Ron Weasley - you're an absolute git!_

    Funny how the voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Hermione all of a sudden.

=====================================================================

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? **


	7. The Boy Who Saved The Day

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **Warning: **slash themes (see previous chapters for detailed warning and summary of story)

C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.  

**Amaryllis Gilada, Alex Destine and Minerva-Severus-Dumbledor** - thank you for your kind comments.  Much appreciated and I hope you stick around as the story hits its stride.  There's more to come, this bit is _nothing_ compared to what's going to happen further on in Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco's fifth year.  ~grins~

I'm almost sure that the plot (of which you haven't seen much of yet but will eventually ^_^) has never been used before (somebody correct me if I'm wrong) so please read and review.  

Author's notes after the story.

=====================================================================

**Chapter Six** - The Boy Who Saved the Day

      Iridescent Malkin was scared; scared in a way that she hadn't felt since the last days of the Dark Time, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Death Eaters had walked freely.  She remembered that time not in the screams of the dying and the flashes of green that had marked the lucky who were not to be tortured.  No, her memories were marked by the unlit windows that lined Diagon Alley.  The empty stores, filled with rubble, and the dust that blew, ceaselessly.  

    Now, standing in her store, fifteen years of peace rounding her once-sylph like figure, the windows mocked her.  _He's back - he's back and it's all happening again -_

    "Please - please -"  she wondered what she pleaded for - mercy was not a trait of Death Eaters.  

If she was to be truthful, she knew what she sought - the lie.  She wished this wizard to be insane.  She wanted the peace Harry Potter's miraculous life had instigated to continue, untouched.  She wanted the threat of war to be a nightmare figment. 

    "You won't be hurt."  The wizard said; and now, when he knew she was scared, he spoke as if he were a kindly parent to her disobedient child, "Just do what we want, and you shall not suffer."  He ran a hand down her cheek - the fingers were cold.

She shuddered, and the years fell away - she was twenty five again, the war was at its height, and the windows had been like dark, empty eyes.

   "I'll - I'll do it -"  her voice barely a whisper, "Please - please -"

The mask glinted, sightless eyes matching the hissing snake that twined through the skull on his arm.  

    "Good girl."  The wizard whispered, "Very good -"

   "_Accio corpus_!"

The voice rang out - loudly declaimed; Iridescent jumped - the wizard jerked forward, and kept going, feet dragging, face curled in shock, across the store.

   "_Finite incantum!_"  Iridescent realised the source of the voice - her eyes went to the pale face half obscured by the door of the change room.

    Ronald Weasley - the youngest Weasley boy.  

Though the charm had been ended, the wizard kept going, drawn - despite the cessation of the charm - by the force of the original pull.  

He bounced off one of the mirrors lightly and turned, seeking the source of the charm; his gaze fell on Iridescent, "You -"

   "_Wingardium leviosa!_"

And was jerked forward again, slamming into the mirror.  The boy flipped his wand, tilting the wizard's body in clumsy imitation before gesturing once more.  Wide eyed, Iridescent watched as the wizard - the Death Eater - was slammed against the mirror.  Glass shattered as the charm broke beneath the strain of force.  Her gaze followed the cracked reflections glaring angrily at her as shards of silvered glass tinkled to the ground.  And still the wizard was swung against the wall, eyes rolling back in his head from a mild concussion.

   "Ah - Madam Malkin?"  the Weasley boy's voice was plaintive, "I don't think my _petrificus totalis_ will hold him - could you -?"

In her memory, she could see the store windows - dark and empty; but before her, she could see the pale white face of the youngest Weasley boy, and the rather amusing sight of a grown Death Eater being swung back and forth against her store wall.  On the ground, shards of glass reflected uncharmed images back to her shocked eyes.

   "Madam Malkin?"  

   "Oh - oh!"  Iridescent Malkin pulled out her wand and waved it at the Death Eater, "_Petrificus totalis_!"

    The wizard was surrounded by a blue glare and then froze; eyes still rolled back.  The body fell to the ground and Madam Malkin turned her eyes to Ronald Weasley, still on the ground, formal robes half unbuttoned down his chest.  He stood up slowly, running a hand through his mused Weasley-red hair before flashing a happy grin.

    They stared at each other for several seconds - silent in shock and perhaps euphoria.  The pop of a wizard apparating into the store broke the silence.

    "Weasley, R. -"  the wizard glanced at the sheet of paper in his hand and shook his head, "You must be related to Fred and George Weasley then."  He said, "It'll be your wand for the rest of the summer and two galleons as a fine for illegal use of magic -"  he trailed off as he looked up and took in the broken mirrors, the body-bound wizard and Madam Malkin, "What happened -?"

    "I was being attacked by a Death Eater - Ronald Weasley here saved the day."  Madam Malkin said.

Ronald Weasley's pale face flushed red with pride; the colour clashed dreadfully with his hair, but the glow in his blue eyes did not.

*

      _This _is_ all your fault._  A conversational voice muttered in the back of Hermione's head as she stared, flabbergasted at her mother.  _You were the one you didn't want them to worry about You-Know-Who and Harry's habit of having near death experiences.  Or the way you and Ron always end up getting dragged into crazy adventures.  You were the one who decided to tell them about amusing sweets and annoying but adorable Oliver Twist type friends getting into amusing and easily forgettable pranks.  _

    "I really don't see why you are making such an event out of this, Hermione, dear."  Amanda Granger was saying patiently over the dinner table, "Your father will accompany you to this - 'important meeting'."  The way she pronounced 'important meeting' underlined her scepticism, "Surely they can't expect two medical professionals to be able to take time off at such short notice?"

_You were the one who made them think magic was useful for household chores and party tricks._  The voice continued; Hermione felt like thumping her head on the table.  _I think I know why Ron found me so annoying in first year.  And second year.  And let's face it, third and fourth as well.  There's something to be said for being _too_ reasonably logical._

    "Because it's _important_!"  Hermione knew her voice had raised, she knew she sounded like a child - and yet could not stop herself.

   "Well, your father will be there, and he can tell me _everything_ I've missed."  Amanda replied calmly, "Now, would you like more roast?"  

Calmly, the older woman picked up the serving plate and walked over to the counter.  Hermione let her head fall to the table with a soft '_thump_'.  _And now you have two days to explain about Voldemort, Harry Potter, and Hogwarts - not just an amusing old castle with moving staircases and ghosts but also 'the last sanctuary of those who fight for Good, the Side of Light and other clichés'._  The voice said, giving her the equivalent of a pat on the head.  Hermione groaned and thumped her head several times.

*

      There was silence - and then, there was not.  

    Draco jerked out of sleep with the first footfall and blinked, bleary-eyed at his father.

   "Good morning Draco."

Moonlight shone through the windows - perfect imitation of his other room, the one he had yet to use these holidays.  He wondered if it was morning outside - time did not always follow the same rules in his pictorial prison.  _Pictorial prison - nice phrase there.  I should remember it for my next History of Magic essay._  Draco thought sleepily as he rubbed a hand over his eyes.  _Pay attention!_

    Adrenaline shot through him; Lucius was waiting, and as he had been taught all those years ago, surprise was no excuse for bad manners.

   "Good morning Father."  Draco said, sitting up in the bed, hands folded over the edge of the quilt.  

   "Good."  Lucius breathed - Draco ducked his head at the approval, it was a habit he had neither taught to imitate nor to forego, "The house elf will bring breakfast and the clothes you are to wear.  Be ready in an hour."  He said and waited.

   "Be ready for what, Father?"  Draco asked obediently - this was a routine, a practised set of commands and reactions.

Lucius nodded once more, and a slight smile creased his thin lips, "The Dark Lord will give you your first mission this day.  Be proud - you are to join the ranks of those closest to He-Who-Is-Not-Named."

    In the years to follow, Draco would wonder what made him speak out now - when he never had before.  The bitterness and frustration were as much a part of his life as the endless lessons and strive for excellence.  He had learned never to speak his mind - and never to consider the Dark Lord in any way but good let alone by name.  But the words slipped out none the less, and in the silence of the room were not lost as whispers often are.

    "Voldemort finally found a place for me in his arsenal of Unforgivable Curses."

At that time, he had been relieved that there had been no intonation - at least his control there had not slipped.  The fear, anger and helpless rage at being made the mindless weapon rather than the brilliant tactician were his secret still at least.  Unfortunately, so too was the slow, dawning wonder at finally joining the cause he had been born to serve - the emotions his father expected expressed - remained hidden as well.

    Lucius turned, and his face was unreadable; he rarely hid his thoughts from his son.

   "Have a care, Draco, how you speak of our Master.  There is a reason why his name is never spoken - even by we who are his trusted servants."  

   "Why?"

   "Respect for power, little dragon.  Even we fear that the name will draw the attention of the owner."  Lucius walked through the door and it clicked shut - not locked though it might as well be.  

Draco had long since discovered the secrets of his 'training rooms' (better be called prison, for that was what it was).  His mother had never told him the truth - but he had discovered the truth there as well.  He had come very close to living his life within the specially charmed portraits as so many other Malfoy children had throughout the generations.  _Fail, bring dishonour to our name, and this will be your punishment._  A silent threat - one of many - that had formed him into the man he would one day be.  

    He wondered what it would have been like to be one of the poverty-stricken Weasleys - with no family honour to uphold despite their pure-blooded lineage.  _Is it disloyal to call it a curse?_

    The mirror caught his reflection: hair perfectly arrayed, clothes mildly mused but still falling in perfect lines, body arranged in a composed, perfect manner.  Perfect.

    _Father's perfect little dragon.  _

    _Master's perfect little weapon._

    Out of nowhere, he wandered where his mother was.  Usually by this point of the vacation, Narcissa Malfoy had managed to convince her husband to allow Draco out - if only to work for a while with her in the gardens.

    _I miss the lilies._  They had been his project last summer - the creation of a lily that would bloom in shadows, without the aid of the sun.

*

_Harry -_

_You won't believe what happened to me yesterday! I tell you I'm never getting mad that you get to do the exciting stuff after this.  When that Death Eater was just standing there and threatening Madam Malkin I completely froze.  Never been so scared in my life - good thing Hermione made me learn _wingardium leviosa _and _accio _till I could do it better than I can avoid Fred and George on guinea pig recruitment drives.  Or I'd probably not be here.  Or maybe I would be - but Madam Malkin wouldn't be.  .  .  Well she'd be here too but she wouldn't be letting muggle-borns buy robes from her shop anymore.  Not as impressive as killing the basilisk or stopping You-Know-Who from getting the philosopher's stone but at least Hermione won't start a society for equal robe-buying opportunities right?_

_Anyway - I was in Diagon Alley getting new formal robes (more on that later) when _

      Ron stared at the sentence he had been writing, frowning.  _Should I tell him? Hermione did say that we shouldn't make Harry worry about all the Death Eater attacks this summer.  Especially with Cedric and all that._

    It seemed a shame not being able to share this adventure with Harry - especially since Hermione had sent a note saying she was going to be on a 'plane' (some muggle thing that was like a broom but could hold more than a hundred people) and wasn't able to receive letters for a while.  Besides, after four years of watching Harry save the day, stop You-Know-Who's latest insidious plot and altogether be Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, it was sort of.  .  .  Well, _nice_ to be able to have done something vaguely equivalent.  _I'm a prat.  An absolute prat.  There's Harry probably still completely arse-over-head in guilt over Cedric Diggory and I want to boast.  No wonder Hermione wouldn't go to the Yule Ball with me._

    Ron stared at the letter, crumpled it up and tossed it into the corner of his room.  It bounced and landed amidst the pile of school robes, books, parchment and quills.  _I'll write Harry a letter tomorrow.  Not as if he can read it anyway - those muggles probably stopped him reading his mail again or something._  

    It would have him wicked telling Harry though.  Ron sighed and leaned his head on the table.  _Damn._

    Something went '_boom!_' somewhere in the Burrow, and canary feathers exploded over Ron's head.

   "Fred! George! You get down here this instance!"  Molly Weasley's voice roared, amplified by a charm.

Ron closed his eyes.  _I wonder what Hermione's doing in a 'plane' anyway._

*

      It was, Hermione Granger realised, unnerving to suddenly find your world rocked on its hinges.  The disorientation was akin to suddenly discovering that up was not as one had expected, directly overhead, but to the right.  _And then, the ground comes hurtling sideways - and all you can do is wait for it to end.  _

    She recognised a few of the other students in the room.  All of the Gryffindors of course - Dean Thomas had waved briefly at her from the other side of the office when she had entered.  A few Ravenclaws - though as there were none from her year she mostly knew them by sight - more so of the Hufflepuffs.  There were no Slytherins.  _No surprise there really._  

    Other than their houses and ages, there was nothing to connect any of them to each other.  There were very few sixth years (seventh years in the new school term).  Less third years (fourth really) and very few second years.  Most of them were fifth years, like Hermione.  _The greatest amount of coverage.  We are the year who will fight beside the Boy Who Lived_.  There were slightly more females than males.  Somehow, she had always thought that when the war was proclaimed, it would be the boys who would go.  Sexist though that be, her mind had brought forth visions of regiments of soldiers, marching in old world war one and two uniforms to defeat the German threat.  

    _The distinction of power does not come from gender.  You are deluded if you believe otherwise._  A familiar voice and phrase, she wondered which of her professors might have said such and realised she was remembering something Grandmother Granger had told her (the year before she had entered Hogwarts as a muggle-born eleven year old).

    _There is one thing we have in common._  Though she had not known this fact of most of the other children in the room till today.  They were all muggle born.  Every single one of them.  _So Grandmama, the distinction of power comes from knowledge.  Knowledge of the difference between muggles and wizards.  Knowledge of what it's like to live in two worlds._

    And now - knowledge of how to save one of those worlds.

    "As you can see, what I ask of all of you is a heavy task indeed."  Professor Dumbledore said solemnly, "If you choose not to accept, then you may do so now.  Your memory of this invitation and this meeting will be oblivated by the Professor of your house -"  Hermione's gaze went, unasked, to the professors standing behind the headmaster.  Snape was missing, she noted - because there were no Slytherins or for more sinister reasons?  " - and you will not remember any of this.  There is no shame in refusing."  Dumbledore continued, "Nor is there any shame in leaving.  But,"  he paused and the twinkle in his eye had vanished - he looked to Hermione, for the first time, like an old man with grave responsibilities, "Do know that you are needed.  You are the best, the greatest hope our world has of survival against Lord Voldemort."  He paused and added, "When you are ready, enter the room.  If you refuse, the Professor of your House awaits."  He stood and left quietly through a door that Hermione had not noticed previously.

    It was small, a plain door with a wooden frame.  

    She never knew who walked through that door first - though logic stated it had likely been one of the future seventh years.  A Ravenclaw, memory suggested.  She never remembered half of the confusing arguments her bewildered mind had suggested other than that logic and fear had agreed on the danger of entering the war against Voldemort.  She did remember the voice that had shrieked: _There's still time!_ _Still time to run away.  Still time to hide.  This is a war! It's not a game - you don't need to fight -!_

    She wondered, in the years that followed, what made her take that first step towards the door.  The girl that she had been - the smart, bookish girl - would have known all the arguments against entering that door and the war.  And yet - she had taken that first step - illogically, dangerously, emotionally.  She did know, however, what made her continue walking towards the plain wooden door - and what made her walk _through _the door and into the room on the other side.  And in the years that followed, she knew the reason why the Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor on that long ago day.

      Professor Dumbledore smiled as the last of the students entered the room.  The Professors of the three assembled Houses filed in behind them, Professor McGonnagal closing the door and locking it with an inaudible charm.  There were thirty students all together: seven had chosen to leave - and thirty had chosen to stay.

    "Well then."  Professor Dumbledore said, "Thank you and allow me to welcome you to the Order of the Phoenix."  

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**Author's Notes:**

Yes - I know.  The number one greatest cliché of fifth year stories: the dreaded 'Order of the Phoenix'.  One day, I want to see a fanfic written that has the 'Order' created and used by Voldemort rather than Dumbledore.  After all, Voldemort does resemble the phoenix (he died and was thought gone, but from the ashes of his destruction, returned).  And the idea and name, in the hands of 'Evil' would not only be a great morale booster (for the 'Evil' side) but also confuse and alarm the 'Good' side of the war.

Also - yes, _Iridescent _(first name of Madam Malkin) is a joke.  Not everybody in the wizarding world has a strange name, but so many original characters seem to.  When I found myself searching for Madam Malkin's first name, and found myself coming up short, I couldn't resist.  Thus - Iridescent.  

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? (Look, it'll take a few seconds, just click - right there. Below.  Yup.  Right there.  .  .  [mopes] Please?)**

- Modified 19/08/2002 for various structural problems.


	8. Two Dreams and a Cliche

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **Warning: **slash themes (see previous chapters for detailed warning and summary of story)

C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.  

**Extra**: [tries out her brand new puppy dog eyes] Um.  .  .  Hesitant request here (for this is probably a rather low thing to do -_-;;) but.  .  .  I really hoped to be somewhere in the mid twenties in terms of reviews by Chapter Six.  So - please, tell me what you think of the story so far.  I know it's slow going at the moment (well actually it just sped up but - anyway) but tell me what you think.  Or your guesses for the future.  Or - failing all that, tell me how bad it is.  Please?

=====================================================================

**Chapter Seven**: Two Dreams and a Cliche

_      Smoke rose slowly on the desolated plain.  Trees, bare branches scorched, dotted the land.  There were no dead - the battle had destroyed all remnants, reducing even bone, blood and grief to ashes.  He walked alone, the rags of his robes flapping against skin.  Staring down, he realised that despite the ashes that turned the world to grey, his skin was untouched.  Though the clothes were shredded, he remained - unharmed.  And the ghost of a voice whispered in his ear: "The Boy Who Cannot Die."  _

_    "'_Unblemished and pure, he alone - unscathed by war_'."  _

_He turned at the familiar drawl and he was no longer alone.  Draco Malfoy stood there, silver-gold hair pulled by the wind across his eyes.  The wind ripped at his robes, revealing and hiding white skin._  This is not right.

_    Draco Malfoy never looked untidy; _He looks different.  .  .  Human.

_   "Why are you in my dream -"  had he known it was a dream before now? " - again?"  _

_Draco - no _Malfoy _- tilted his head, "I don't know."_

_He wore robes that would have been white were it not that they were intertwined with silver threads.  It seemed strange to see Draco Malfoy in white._

_   "There was a battle here."  He hadn't realised he had spoken till he did._

Malfoy _was walking away.  In the smoke-warped world, he shone like a beacon._

_   "Where are you going?"  Harry called - curiously alarmed at his departure.  _Why am I worried? This does not matter either - remember?__

_The answer came, floating on the smoke._

_   "'_I live in waking dreams_'."_

      He turned.

      _Lord Voldemort stood in the centre of the chamber, surrounded by Death Eaters.  How he knew they were Death Eaters he was not sure - they wore no masks, nor did they speak, they were merely there.  _Handmaidens.__

_    He wondered why he thought those words.  He wondered what Lord Voldemort was doing, standing in the centre of a chamber with his Death Eaters._

_   "Where is your son, Lucius?"  Voldemort asked; and he was strangely calm as he listened to that almost-familiar voice._

_   "He awaits your pleasure, my lord."  Lucius Malfoy answered; and now that he had spoken, he recognised the hair - paler than his son's it was truly white._

_   "Then bring him in.  It is time our little dragon fulfils the destiny I have created for him."_

      Harry woke to the sound of paper being ripped apart.  He sat up, grasping with one hand for his glasses, the other touching the scar that pulsed softly in barely remembered pain.  The room dropped into focus as he pulled on his glasses - and he stared in shock at Dudley - who was in the middle of a pile of brown wrapping paper, calmly eating a slice of cake.

   "What are you doing?!"

And then he realised - _I'm fifteen._

*

_Dear Harry - _

_  
Happy Birthday! How does it feel to be _finally_ fourteen? Remus and I are currently on the continent so can't really say much.  I have some fantastic news - but can't say much in the letter.  _

_On another note - how was your summer? The last letter I received from you was mid June.  I'm happy to note that they've let you go out more this summer.  How is your scar? Any dreams of You-Know-Who? As you haven't written, I have had to assume that everything is fine.  _

_Hopefully be able to talk to you in person later this year, if not, I should be able to receive normal owl mail by mid September._

_Till then, take care._

_Love_

_Padfoot _

_Dear Harry,_

_  
Happy Birthday! Are you all right? You haven't written at all this summer.  Ron and I are worried - but I told Ron that if anything had happened, Professor Dumbledore would have told us immediately._

_Still, if you can, write back please?_

_I'm currently on vacation with my parents - last minute trip since they both received some time off this year.  We're in Scotland this time - lovely cottage near the beach with a wonderful little village.  It reminds me a little of Hogsmeade - I keep expecting to find Honeydukes around the next corner.  _

_I hope you like the present, I heard that it's our DADA text this year.  _

_Hermione _

_Harry -_

_Hope Pig gets this to you on time.  Happy Birthday! _

_I know the muggles probably not letting you reply to your mail but I told Pig to only give this to you when you're by yourself.  Anyway, want to meet us at Diagon Alley July 15th? _

_Ron_

      Dudley dropped the letter onto the ground, the smirk gracing his pudgy face decidedly reminiscent of Draco Malfoy at his worse.  Though even Draco Malfoy rarely seemed so malicious_._  

    "Knew you were cheating on Mummy's diet all these years."  Dudley grinned, scooping a handful of chocolates from Honeydukes (Ron's present) into his mouth, "Good chocolate."  He mumbled, "Bit plain though.  Not much of yours friends if they won't spring for fruit and nut."  He added, glancing at Harry to see if the taunt had any effect.

    Harry remained where he was, sitting up on his bed.  Dudley had not begun reading the cards till Harry had woken and attempted to stop him.  Dudley outweighed Harry by a good five stone - and despite the muscles Harry had slowly and painstakingly gained in the four years he had been going to Hogwarts, he was no match for Dudley.  At least not without magic.  And as Dudley knew, Harry wasn't allowed to use magic during the summer.  

   "Nice cake too."  Dudley continued, then faked a grimace, "Oh - too bad.  All gone.  Guess you'll have to take my word that it was delicious."  

    This was a scene that Dudley was familiar with - one replayed throughout their childhood.  Dudley would do something to Harry, and Harry would retaliate.  Harry rarely won - especially not during the summer when Dudley's parents could be counted on to punish Harry for arguing back.  The summer had been boring thus far - Pierce had gone off to band camp and Dudley had finished the last of his video games a week ago.  He had been amusing himself with his alternate entertainment - taunting Harry - since.  Of course, the results had been a trifle - off-centre.  The usual methods - tripping, orders and 'making Harry's chores harder' - hadn't worked in the same manner.  Harry had simply picked himself up, done the work required and gone back to his room quietly.  It was - weird.

    He had planned this particular 'attack' carefully.  After all, if anybody fiddled with _his_ presents on _his_ birthday, there would have been hell to pay.  He had set his alarm, and crept quietly into Harry's bedroom - rather surprised actually to find his cousin asleep.  Harry opening his presents usually woke him up early every summer - but this year, luck had been with him (as it usually was) and Harry had been fast asleep.  

    It should be noted that Dudley was neither a particularly evil nor stupid boy.  He was best described by those who met him as an average youth, of average height and intelligence.  His features were neither out-standing nor particularly memorable - other than his alarming size of course.  The only aspect of Dudley that generally brought comments (other than his weight - which was finally dwindling to a proportion more in fitting with his age and height) was his above average ability to manipulate those around him.  It was a talent that likely would have made him an exceptional candidate for a position in middle management one day.  

    Dudley knew, from living with his cousin all his life, exactly how to raise Harry to anger, unhappiness and a variety of other emotional responses.  Or a least, he had - till this year.  It was beginning to puzzle Dudley - even the ultimate 'attacks', the ones revolving around Harry's friends, how strange he was, or even his parents - drew nothing more than a brief spark of anger and then.  .  .  _Nothing_. 

      Harry knew Dudley was waiting for some sort of reply.  This was how the game was played, after all.  Dudley would taunt, or pinch, kick and fight, and Harry would retaliate.  It was the fundamental portions of his relationship with his cousin.  The words buzzed in his mind, old and familiar.  The actions itching against his fingers - and yet, clenching his hands into fists seemed.  .  .  A hapless exercise.

    So he sat, and waited for Dudley to become bored and leave - which, eventually he would.  A year ago, Harry would have found it hilarious that his inaction was annoying Dudley far more than anything else had ever done.  Now - there was.  .  .  _Nothing.  .  _.

    Finally Dudley scowled, picking up the boxes of cake and sweets, allowing the cards to fall, uncaring, to the floor.

   "Mummy wants you to start cooking breakfast."  He said, a touch of petulance in his tone as he hurried out of the room.

    After a while, Harry got out of bed, rubbed what little sleep remained from his eyes and left the room.  Breakfast awaited - and then lunch.  And later, dinner.  Then it would be time to sleep. 

    _It doesn't matter.  I don't care._

*

      "  KILLED CEDRIC DIGGORY! YOU SHOULD BE PUT INTO AZKABAN AND GIVEN THE DEMENTOR'S KISS -"

    Number 4, Privet Drive shook as the voice roared, echoing in the early morning light.  In the kitchen, Harry stood, plate forgotten in his hands.  Dudley had dropped the Howler as soon as it had burst open in his hands and was now crouched in the corner - hands tightly clasped over his ears - with Aunt Petunia.

    Uncle Vernon was yelling at Harry - but the howler's enhanced volume put the enraged yells to shame, drowning them out.

    " - JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE THE BOY WHO LIVED - "

    The birds had taken to the skies and through the kitchen window, Harry could see several of the neighbours crowding onto the pavement, staring in shock at the Dursley's home.

    " - JUSTICE!"

    The howler collapsed with the last shriek, parchment turning to ash.  Harry found his eyes drawn to the grey pile of dust.  This was the first time he had heard a howler in full.  All the others had spent days in water, waiting for a time when the Dursleys were out of the house long enough for him to listen to them safely.  This one had arrived on a grey eagle that had swooped through the kitchen window (much to Aunt Petunia's shock), dropping the howler in front of Harry.  It had missed the frying pan by inches, drifting to the ground.  Dudley had grabbed it - and then dropped it as it exploded outwards in both sound and seal. 

    And now - there was silence.

    Harry raised his eyes slowly to a glowering Uncle Vernon and an Aunt Petunia with a face so pale it was practically white.  Behind her, Dudley was grinning triumphantly at Harry.

    The silence was broken by the doorbell ringing.

   "Answer the door Petunia."  Uncle Vernon said, "Dudley - go to your room."

   "But -"  Dudley began and then, for the first time in his life, ceased as he caught sight of his father's expression.

Aunt Petunia moved soundlessly through the kitchen to the front door, Dudley following and heading up the stairs.  Harry could hear the brief 'thump, thump - pause - thump' of his steps.

    "Petunia, dear - we heard the shouting from down the street -"

The voice was familiar - one of the ladies from the Gardening Society Aunt Petunia had joined that summer.  Harry had done the weeding and had heard them talking about Aunt Petunia's roses ("The best in the neighbourhood, dear! You have to share your secret.") once.

   "Oh -"  Aunt Petunia tittered, "It was just Dudley and his television.  The volume malfunctioned - you know how these things happened.  But Vernon fixed it - so nice to have a dependable man around the house."  

   "But it sounded so - real?"

   "No - no.  Just a day time soap operas.  Or maybe it was a tape.  So sorry we bothered everybody." 

    The front door clicked shut firmly, echoed by the sound of the bolts being pulled into place.  Harry stared down at the floor and waited for the explosion.

    It had been years since Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia had hit him, and even then it had usually been a half-hearted slap or a brief smack.  Usually they didn't touch him at all, other than to haul him into a room or pull him away from something.  Usually they tried to pretend that he didn't exist.  But after the howler - _Magic, Hogwarts related things, and the neighbours heard._  He wondered why he wasn't scared.  

    Why he wasn't running or trying to explain - or even angry.  

    _Why don't I feel anything?_

    "They're gone.  No good busy bodies."  Aunt Petunia said as she closed the kitchen door behind her.

Harry looked up, meeting their eyes more out of habit than any bravery.  _Does this matter? Shouldn't it matter?_ Could he force himself to feel something so it _did _matter? _Does receiving howlers count as illegal use of magic - or accidental use of magic?_ No Ministry agents or owls had appeared.

    Uncle Vernon was still red, hands clenched into fists; Aunt Petunia merely looked - frozen.  No emotions, merely a face.  He had seen her look that way every time she had been forced to talk to teachers about him when he was in primary school.  

   "I want you and your - your -"  Uncle Vernon spluttered, avoiding the dreaded 'M' word, " - your unnatural things out of my house in one hour."  

Half a hundred responses appeared in Harry's mind.  Voldemort, Professor Dumbledore's reasons for wanting him to stay with the Dursleys - and found that he didn't want to argue.  _Professor Dumbledore said you had to stay with the Dursleys for your safety.  If you leave, Voldemort will be able to find you.  What happens if he throws Avada Kedavra at you? You should owl Professor Dumbledore or at least Sirius._  A voice - logical and staid (and sounding strangely like Hermione) - counselled.  _You should care - _this _matters._

    _Doesn't it?_

    Harry stared at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia - and left the kitchen quietly.  _I can't care._

=====================================================================

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? **


	9. Summer's End

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  WARNING: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**Extra**: [tries out her brand new puppy dog eyes] Um.  .  .  Hesitant request here (for this is probably a rather low thing to do -_-;;) but.  .  .  I really hoped to be somewhere in the mid twenties in terms of reviews by Chapter Six.  So - please, tell me what you think of the story so far.  I know it's slow going at the moment (well actually it just sped up but - anyway) but tell me what you think.  Or your guesses for the future.  Or - failing all that, tell me how bad it is.  Please?

**Author's note** - including response to reviews - after chapter.  Enjoy - and please review!

=====================================================================

  


**Chapter Eight**: Summer's End

      There was a brief implosion of air in the kitchen which sent Uncle Vernon stumbling backwards in shocked fear and forced a sharp shriek out of Aunt Petunia.  Harry swallowed, recognising the profile - from greasy hair through to swirling black robes - immediately.

Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, Potions Master and a Professor at Hogwarts, England's foremost school for wizardry and witchcraft, glared down at Harry.

   "Can you not stay out of trouble, Potter?"  he snarled as he took in the kitchen - and the pile of ash, "What's this? Beloved Harry Potter receiving howlers from his adoring public? The world has ended."

The Professor glared at him first in waiting displeasure, then in sharpened suspicion at his silence.

   "Who - who the hell are you?!"  Uncle Vernon spluttered finally into the shocked silence.

Professor Snape turned, "Professor Severus Snape."  He snapped, "One of the boy's teachers.  What happened here?"

    _Does _this _matter?_  A tired voice in the back of Harry's mind asked.  _Should I care now?_

*

_Dear Remus,_

_I'm currently staying with Professor Flitwick at the Leaky Cauldron.  The Dursleys accidentally opened a howler intended for me and Uncle Vernon threw me out of the house.  _

_Professor Snape appeared shortly after but because of the Magic on Muggles Act (I'm not sure about this - was it passed recently? I haven't heard anything since the summer started) decided against performing a memory charm on them.  _

_Thank you for the present - the cake was delicious and I'm reading the book at the moment.  Please say 'hi' to Snuffles for me._

_Keep safe._

_Harry_

      Remus Lupin frowned at the letter; whether it be werewolf instinct (though he doubted that) or the barely honed reflexes he had gained as a teacher, something told him to be wary of the carelessly cheerful tone of the letter.  _Remus - you're impressing your image of what Harry should be over the boy.  He's fifteen years old by Merlin's beard.  Why should he spend his summer anguished over Cedric Diggory and You-Know-Who? The young recover fast - and if he has recovered already then why shouldn't he have? It's normal to recover.  .  ._

    Except - he was almost sure that it _wasn't_ normal.  At least not for Harry - who had never seemed the type of child to brush off major events without thought.  Or even small conversations overheard by accident - and ancient maps with deteriorating charms that should have deteriorated long ago (and would Severus ever let him forget it?).  And if it wasn't normal.  .  .  _Is Harry all right? And if he isn't why is he hiding it from Sirius?_

    The door of the tiny cottage Remus had rented three days ago swung open, revealing a large black dog (affectionately named 'Snuffles' according to the tag hanging from his collar).  Remus watched as 'Snuffles' shut the door with his nose before the brief implosion of air marked the transformation from dog to man.

    Sirius Black - the first and only man to ever escape Azkaban, the wizarding jail protected by dementors - glanced over to his friend and frowned, "What's wrong, Remus?"

   "Letter from Harry."  Remus replied, handing the parchment over before Sirius could grab it.

   "Is he in trouble? Did those muggles hurt him?"  Sirius ran through the parchment as he spoke, then frowned, "He seems fine - happy even."

Remus made a non-commital grunt as he poured water into the kettle and set it onto the stove.

   "Is Flitwick's loyalties questionable?"  Sirius asked, leaning against the counter that divided the small cul-de-sac that was the kitchen from the combined living and dining area of the cottage, "Is that why you're worried?"

   "Flitwick is equal portions faerie, elf, dwarf and human - and the only part unaligned by upbringing and breed to the Light is human.  It's against his - as the muggles put it - 'genetic inclination' to join Voldemort's pure-blooded following.  He is as much a part of Albus' collection of misfits as we are."  Remus replied with a brief laugh - and forced the bitterness away, as he always had, "No.  Flitwick is above reproach."

   "Then why the worry?"

There was a pause; the kettle hummed, "Does he seem too happy to you?"

   "Flitwick? Of course.  But he's always been that way -"

   "Harry."

   "Oh."  Sirius paused, frowning, "I'm more worried that he isn't as happy as he should be."

   "Oh."  

The kettle whistled into the quiet.

*

      "Ron! Wake up and get down here!"

Ron jerked out of sleep, staring blearily at the Chudley Canon poster  hanging opposite his bed.  Alexis Mimickiv, the Chudley Canon's chaser grinned at him and waved before zooming off to join the Seeker on the other side of the room.

    "Ron!"

    He glanced at the small alarm clock by his bed (still sleepily ticking).  _Why'd Mum want me up at nine in the bleeding morning for?_ Brain cells slowly ticked over.  _Oh yeah - we're going to Diagon Alley today to pick up my robes from Madam Malkin._  There was even going to be a small ceremony, and the Daily Prophet was going to do an article about how he had stopped the Death Eater.  The thought made something in the vicinity of his chest warm - though remembering the actual day still made him want to throw up his breakfast (had he had any).  _Wonder if Harry feels scared when he's facing down You-Know-Who._

    _Oh yeah -!_ He glanced expectantly at the bedside table - and slumped when all that me this gaze was a sleeping Pig.  Harry hadn't answered the birthday note either.  

   "I've got to get a more reliable owl."  Ron glared briefly at Pig - who hooted sleepily and tucked his head more firmly under a wing, "Wonder if he even got his gifts."

    Hermione wasn't going to be there either - still on vacation in Scotland with her parents.  She had sent a postcard yesterday - something about historical castles and ghosts.  _Muggles - they get excited over every little thing._  Ron thought, then grinned as he imagined Hermione's glare. 

    _Damn - I miss them._  The holidays hadn't been the same without Harry around - or Hermione to remind him about his homework.  _Aw heck.  I've still got that History of Magic scroll to finish.  All twelve inches._  

   "Ronald Weasley - if you don't get down here -!"

Ron flinched and hastily got out of bed, "Coming Mum!"  he shouted.

    The Burrow echoed slightly as a sudden '_boom_' shook the rafters.  Ron ducked out of the way of a burst of canary feathers floating (apparently out of nowhere) from the ceiling.  The twins, having achieved canary creams that delayed transfiguring the victims for an unknown ("And random! The point is the randomness of it!"  George - or Fred, it was hard to tell under all those feathers - had exclaimed excitedly) amount of time had shifted their efforts towards maintaining the transformation through apparation and portkey teleportation.  Percy had taken to sleeping in the office.  _Never thought I'd be happy to be too young to get my apparation license._  Ron grinned as he tugged on a pair of robes and smoothed down his hair in front of the mirror.

   "You've got a smudge on your nose."  The mirror remarked, "And your robes are too small for you."

   "Well, I'll be getting new ones today right?"  Ron replied and grinned.

    Another batch of feathers drifted across the floor to join the drift near the door.  Molly Weasley, having given up on punishing Fred and George for their experiments, had negotiated an amnesty that entailed no loud explosions, sudden transformations or strange flashing colours (this after Percy had unwarily drunk a glass of what had turned out _not_ to be lemonade and ended up bright enough to light Worchester) before, during and at least one hour after any meals.  _Mum's probably going to have their hides now._

    Ron grinned - Fred and George in trouble (and unlikely to be using him as a guinea pig for at least the rest of the day) and new robes in the offing.  Life was good.  Though he couldn't help adding an addendum to the thought: _If Harry and Hermione were here it'd be bloody brilliant._

*

      July swept through with familiar speed, filled with the hustle and bustle of life on the edge of Diagon Alley.  Here, in the very centre of the English wizarding community, Harry learned what living with a Professor was like.  _It could have been worse,_  he thought, _I could have been stuck with Snape till September._  

    Professor Snape had taken him by portkey to Hogsmeade then to Hogwarts and the faculty sitting room.  Professor Flitwick had been waiting, and the two men had conversed quietly before Harry had been taken via yet another portkey to Diagon Alley and a suite of rooms in the Leaky Cauldron.  He had expected lessons on charms - or even lectures on the amount of respect he should show (Snape's choice of scathing commentary on the fast hike to Hogwarts).  He had not expected - _What do I call them?_

    Whatever they were, they were uncomfortable.  Flitwick kept sitting him down in the suite's small common living area and attempting to talk to him.  About growing up, and girls and Quidditch and - _feelings_.  It was - strange.  _Forget 'strange', it's bloody unnerving is what it is!_

    In self-defence, he had finally abandoned the thought of staying in the suite for the rest of the holidays and escaped Flitwick's 'conversations' for the safety of Diagon Alley.  And what a un-mitigating fiasco that had been.

    He had found himself backed into a corner in Flourish and Blots by an excited third year and her soon-to-be first year sister.  They had wanted autographs - and had been bearing pictures from the Daily Prophet.  Outside, an old wizard had spent a quarter of an hour lecturing him on the proper behaviour appropriate for courting and winning women (something to do with Hermione it seemed).  That was, till a middle-aged witch had slapped him for killing Cedric Diggory.  He'd stayed inside and sat through four of Flitwick's 'conversations' the next day before escaping outside once more.  It had continued from there.  On the fourth day, he had overheard a witch from the Daily Prophet asking other customers at Tantara's Potion Emporium if they had seen him.  By the end of the second week, they had begun to actively search him out.  Midway through that week, he had caught sight of Rita Skeeter with a photographer outside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.  He had darted into the first building he could find - and found sanctuary.

    'Sanctuary' that is, for Hermione - but in her absence, it was blessedly empty of questions, recriminations, declarations of love and anger.  

    The Diagon Alley Museum and Library of Enchanted Muggle Artefacts Through the Ages had been erected sometime in the nineteenth century and forgotten promptly thereafter by anyone other than the odd interested scholar (such as Hermione - Harry made a mental note to mention the place to her once the school year began).  Best of all, it was deserted but for the caretaker (an old man who had rarely left his rooms in the attics over the Museum since he had taken the job, as he had told Harry during their first conversation), and opened daily (including weekends as the old man - who told Harry to call him 'Joe' - didn't really have anything else to do) from eight in the morning through to six in the evening.  

    For the past two months, Harry had slipped out of the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley at six, grabbed a hasty breakfast (plastering his hair over his forehead and fixedly staring at the ground) from a nearby bakery and waited impatiently on the steps of the Museum till Joe opened them.  He spent the rest of the day exploring the artefacts (there were quite a few - occasionally new ones were brought in, donated by the Department of Improper Use of Magic) and when he had exhausted his interested in that, doing his summer homework in the small library attached to the museum.  If not the most adventurous way to spend his summer, it was at least peaceful.  

    He was looking forward - if you could call it that - to not facing fear around the corner, and not meeting Death Eaters, and not having the Ministry tell him off for illegal use of magic, and not having to find another way to get to Hogwarts because he had missed the train.  If not for missing Hermione and Ron the summer had been - _Except Cedric Diggory is dead and Voldemort is alive._

    So Harry thought of other things, and slowly counted the days to September the first instead.  

    _Nothing.  .  .  I can live with nothing._

=====================================================================

**Lady Ron and Kouji**: thanks for adding 'Without Question' to your favourite story list.  ~grins~ Absolute first time one of my stories ever ended on somebody else's 'favourites' list.  ^_^ [awed]

More specifically - (**Lady Ron**) Dumbledore's muses (Darkness) actually has a point, though it's only slowly being revealed and (**Kouji**) Draco is acting slightly out-of-character in his passive behaviour.  There are several reasons (one of which is the old, trite and clichéd way of: 'a student's dead, he's been isolated for the entire holidays, he's grown up, some of his illusions have been striped, and he's discovered that he's place in Voldemort's armies won't be as glamorous and wonderful as previously expected'.  The second is a little bit more involved and hopefully less clichéd).  

**Shades and Wingsprite**: was this fast enough? On average I'm releasing a chapter every two and a half days.  (Poor "Lust" is suffering for "Without Question"'s gain - and my pre-reader is probably glaring at this right now and waiting for the next instalment of "Lust" ~eep~ ^_^).

**Lyaka**: Draco and Harry are coming - but it is a gradual relationship thing.  I hate stories where they just.  .  .  'end up' together.  There has to be a reason.  An explanation.  An excuse even, for why two enemies (for that is what they are, even if it is an immature and childish enmity) would begin to see each other in a light other than hatred.  Still, Harry's dreaming of Draco isn't he? ~grins~

Also - glad you liked my take on the Order of the Phoenix.  ^_^ I think it's the first time anybody else has taken that approach to the Order -  here's hoping I'm being original instead of clichéd.  ^_^

**Sildtsr**: Firstly - thanks for the review.  And ~grins~ I can't help asking for people to tell me if the story is bad.  It helps keep my ego down (because there's so many better pieces of fiction out there, and I'm hoping that if I keep trying I will eventually reach their level ^_^).  Also - the howlers don't come from anybody, specifically - just the general populace of the wizarding world.  Think of it as similar to the death threats a popular movie/music star might receive alongside the love and fan letters.

**Annon**: thanks! ^-^

Just for anybody's interest, the tone of the story changes with the character - which means the maturity of the writing slips when I write through Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione.  

**Juliet**: Thanks - and yes, I feel sorry in a way for canon!Ron and his eternal side-kick-ness (is there such a word? There must be now ^_^) too.  However, I can see Ron getting into a situation where he does end up as the hero - simply because it is part of his nature.  

**Karla**: Thanks for the review, and the compliment on my writing (inflating ego ^_^).  ****

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

**- edited 23/08/2002 for format errors**


	10. So Comes the Rain

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

Author's notes after the story.  Enjoy and please review!

=====================================================================

**Chapter Nine**: So Comes the Rain

      "Harry -?"  The sleepy voice stopped Harry in his tracks, one hand bearing the all important letter from Hogwarts, the other his key to his account at Gringotts and a mouth firmly biting down on the edge of his invisibility cloak.  

_Oh no - not now -_

    Professor Flitwick had just caught Harry sneaking out of suite of rooms they were sharing at the Leaky Cauldron.  Which could only mean one thing: _He wants to _talk_ to me again._  Harry found himself slowly being swivelled around with gentle, unseen force, till he was staring - wide eyed - at the diminutive Professor and his inappropriately proportioned wand.  

   "Harry -"  Professor Flitwick, sleeping cap bobble dangling over one eye, in a bright blue robe, "Harry - wherever are you going so early in the -"  he blinked, "Goodness - is that an invisibility cloak?"

   "Ah - yes -"  Harry began, and bit off a curse as the cloak slipped out of his mouth and puddled around his feet, "Yes Professor."  

Flitwick nodded, "Well that's good then - nice to know my eyes aren't going yet."  He said, yawning, "Now, why don't you tell me where you're going at six in the morning?"

    Hedwig flew in through the open window, darting through the half-drawn curtains to land on Harry's shoulder - causing him to drop the letter.  Flitwick took in the distinctive Hogwarts crest.

   "Ah - school list finally came did it?"  

   "Yes Professor."  

   "Thought you could beat the crowds if you got in at nine on the dot?"

   "Yes Professor."

   "And the invisibility cloak -?"

   "So I could just drop the money and not have to talk to people, sir."

   "Ah."  Professor Flitwick - looking remarkably solemn for someone who measured less than four feet - sighed, "Why don't you go and do that then, Harry.  But when you come back, we need to have a talk."  He said.

Harry nodded, "Yes sir."  He said, scooping up the cloak and the letter quickly as he attempted to make his escape.

   "And Harry -?"

   "Sir?"

   "The Museum and Library of Enchanted Muggle Artefacts is closed for archiving today, so I will expect you back before lunch."  Flitwick said mildly.

Sometimes Harry wondered if _anything _he attempted to do was actually secret - rather than the result of the Hogwarts faculty turning a blind eye.  _Well, except for Snape anyway._

*

      Ron stared down at the sheet of parchment in his hand; the list for fifth year texts was relatively short - unfortunately, the same could not be said for the books themselves.

   "They're bleeding bonkers."  He breathed as he looked up once more to take in the Defence Against Dark Arts text ('_The Big Book of Companion Magical Creatures and How to Get Them to Help You_').  

It was as thick as it was wide and as long as it was thick - creating what looked remarkably like a square slab of stone.  _Merlin's rod hit me now - they can't seriously expect us to get through _this_ in one year._  "How do they expect us to even _carry_ the blasted thing?"  he muttered as he attempted to pick up the book once more.

   "Good thing you learned _wingardium _back in first year."  Hermione said behind him.

Ron jumped, whirled and grinned, "Hermione!"  he said in surprise.

She hugged him tightly - a move that made him suddenly aware that she had grown up during the summer, "I'm so proud of you Ron! I wish I could have come back early enough to see the ceremony."

He flushed when he realised she was talking about the article the Daily Prophet had published.

   "It was nothing."  Was this why Harry never liked talking about his adventures? It really was embarrassing.

   "Stop that - it was very brave; I liked the picture in the Daily Prophet - the robes looked really good on you."  Hermione added as she stepped back to take a look at the new robes (black with red edging) he was wearing, "Madam Malkin's as well?"

He nodded, "Madam Malkin gave me a whole new set of robes for free - including three different formal robes."  He grinned, "And not a single frill of lace in sight!"

   "Good that."  Hermione noted, then at the stack of books Ron was sporting, "Ron - why ever are you getting the unabridged version of Companion Magical Creatures?" 

   "What?"

Hermione reached over and tapped a finger - slender with well cared nails though why he was noticing this he wasn't completely sure and Nemue betrayed, why was he blushing? - against a row of thin, blue books.  It took Ron several seconds to realise she wanted him to read the spine of the books - several more to tilt his head.

   "'_The Big Book of Companion Magical Creatures and How to Get Them to Help You_ - abridged'."  He read then looked up to find Hermione holding up her book list, finger under the word 'abridged version _only_' (with 'only' underlined once).  

   "Honestly Ron, fifth year and you still can't read."  Hermione said exasperatedly - but she was grinning.

He ran a hand through his hair and smiled, "Good thing you were here then."

   "Yeah."

They stood there, silent, for several seconds; Ron felt his face going redder.  Hermione was looking at the books on the shelves, hugging a stack of books against her chest. 

   "So - you heard from Harry this summer?"  he asked finally.

Hermione turned, frowning worriedly, "No.  Nothing at all."  She said, "I thought maybe he wrote to you at least?"

   "Nothing - not since the beginning of summer."  Ron admitted, "I got a few letters from Snuffles and Professor Lupin though - Harry managed to send one or two to them at least.  They said he was all right."  He paused, "Guess those muggles didn't really let him send any letters this year."

Hermione pursed her lips, "I guess."  She said finally, "Want to go get something to eat? I'm done here."

Ron pretended to gasp, "Done? Hermione Granger - leaving Flourish and Blotts under her own power? Merlin's beard!"

She glared at him, and they gathered their books up - leaving '_The Big Book of Companion Magical Creatures and How to Get Them to Help You (unabridged)_' lying in its place on the bookshelf.  

    _All we need is Harry, and everything will be the way it use to be._  Ron thought.

    By his side, Hermione frowned.  She knew - even if Ron didn't seem to - that Harry had spent the last two months in The Leaky Cauldron with Professor Flitwick.  _What's going on Harry? Why didn't you owl Ron? Why didn't you owl any of us?_

    And thus, August the thirty-first slipped silently towards September the first.

*

      Draco watched impassively as the trunks were levitated into the back of the 'damned muggle contraption', an old rolls royce (bought during the Grindelwald War  by Great-Grandmother Adverto Lucis-Malfoy who had been decidedly eccentric).  Overhead, the sky darkened as storm clouds hovered; the atmosphere suited his mood.  

    It seemed severely unfair he was still expected to return to Hogwarts, uphold the Malfoy name, maintain Slytherin's honour - not to mention complete all his homework.  _What's the _point_ in all this if the Dark Lord is going to reduce the place to rubble before next July? Why not do it now and get it over with?_

    Logically of course, he knew that the extra time was to ensure that the other spies within Hogwarts could attempt last minute recruitment of future Death Eaters.  However, as Draco had been instructed (by the Dark Lord himself), his place was not amongst the ranks of the worthy.  _His _task was to wait for an unknown Death Eater (whose name he would be provided with as required) to meet him and remove the collar.  _Oh wait - it's a _torque_ isn't it? Not a collar - after all, a collar on a Malfoy is an impossibility.  So this is a torque - for _that is_ an ornament worthy of the Malfoy heir._  He swallowed a bitter laugh.  _And I'm a Death Eater initiate._  

_"Is that all?"  the words had bitten at Draco's throat as he bowed in imitation of his father to the Dark Lord._

_The gathered Death Eaters, masks hiding their faces, had not watched him as he followed his father from the room.  The Dark Lord had already begun speaking to another initiate - dressed, unlike Draco, in Death Eater robes, albeit without the mask - who looked young enough to have been no older than he.  The bitterness had rolled in his stomach - why _that_ boy and not _him_?_

_   "Is there nothing else I can do for our cause, Father?"  Draco had asked quietly._

_The corridor had been empty; no one had seen as Lucius removed his mask to glare down at his son._

Well, almost down - at least those growth enchantments made me taller.

_    "Are you questioning our Master's decisions?"  Lucius had said flatly; there had been something - perhaps anger, perhaps fear - in his voice, "The destiny you were _born_ to fulfil?"_

_Taken aback, Draco had replied quickly, "No - no Father."  He stopped, controlled his thoughts and quickening breath automatically, "I, as we all are, serve the Dark Lord in all his desires.  Surely - while I wait for the - torque -"  the pause was barely perceivable he hoped, " - to be removed, there is some other manner I could be - useful?"  _In a manner more befitting our name and my station, Father! Something that makes me more than just a weapon!_ Those words left unsaid - they revealed too much and that was as much taboo as questioning his father._  

_His father had smiled then, gently brushing a lock of hair Draco had barely realised had fallen from its prescribed position back into place, "Ever the ambitious one."  He said gently, "Ah Draco - there is a time and place for ambition - but it is not here." _

_   "Father?"_

_   "In this at least, Draco, there is no need for unseemly ambition.  That you are the Malfoy heir, that you are pure blooded - that is enough; ambition would be unseemly."  His father chided gently, "Your place and task was set in stone the day you were born.  You, my precious dragon, were _chosen _to stand by our Master's side from the day of your conception.  Accept it, take pride in what you do - and no more."  His father paused, then smiled - as if offering a treat to a young child, "Come.  Some texts on the Dark Arts have recently entered my possession.  We will study them together - they will aid you."_

      _Aid me in what, Father? How better to bow and scrape between times when I get to walk around without a bleeding collar?_  He wished he knew _what_ the removal of the collar would do - other than give severe burns to those around him.  But that knowledge - and so much more - had not been gifted to him.

    And on top of everything else, Lucius Malfoy had been called away by urgent business (which could only mean You-Know-Who had summoned him).  Thus, Draco was being sent to the train station not by portkey and floo but the thrice-damned muggle contraption! _This is humiliation.  No wonder the Weasel is always bad tempered if he feels like this _all _the time._  Draco snickered, he would have to remember to use that jibe the next time he met the red-headed git.  _Oh wait.  I can't can I - because Father wants me to " -stay out of trouble and avoid Potter and his friends.  I don't want to get any letters from your Head of House because you can't control yourself."._  

    Which left him at Hogwarts, bowing down to the Slytherin-hating faculty (except for Snape who didn't really count), swallowing his pride and doing the reams of homework as if nothing had changed - and without the possibility of taunting Potter, the mudblood and the red weasel to keep him entertained.  

    _At least I won't be alone._  Forlorn, hopeless thought that - unworthy of the Malfoy heir.  

      "Good morning Draco."  

Draco's head jerked, startled, as he turned at the familiar voice, "Mother!"

Narcissa Malfoy, her pale skin a slight, golden colour from her vacation on the continent, inclined her head and smiled politely, "You are very pale, Draco.  Did your studies keep you inside all this summer?"

She knew - in her blue eyes, he could see the knowledge of all that had happened to him while she had been gone.  _Why?_ A part of him wanted to scream.  _Why did you leave me here? Why did you let those mediwizards enchant me _again_? Why didn't you come back and let me out?_

But those words, and those thoughts, were unworthy of the Malfoy heir - so he merely nodded curtly, "I required much preparation for the new school year.  It shall be my fifth after all - and the O.W.L.s are said to be hard."  Draco said politely.

   "Ah."  Narcissa replied, "It is September the first.  You are leaving for the Hogwarts Express?"

As if standing out here in the predawn cold waiting for the house elves to finish loading his trunks and Quidditch gear was an every day occurrence.

   "Yes.  Father is away on business, so I'm taking Great-Grandmother Adverto Lucis-Malfoy's folly."  Draco said, shrugging to the muggle contraption.

   "Great-Grandmother Adverto was quite eccentric."  Narcissa agreed, "Her luncheons were always - different."  His mother paused then added, "I will see you to the platform."

He nodded - this was the expected, even predicted ending to the conversation.  Other than their summer-time gardening, he had few interactions with his mother not intended to meet a specific end.  Were he as uncouth as he were impatient and irritated, he might have jumped through the intermediary conversation to the end immediately.  However, a Malfoy was well mannered and well-bred, and etiquette had been the first lesson he had been taught.  Draco felt that he had gotten quite accomplished in understanding the underlying laws that governed human interaction.  _Except when it comes to Mother._  He had never truly understood her sporadic attempts at conventional behaviour, nor the conversations they occasionally held that had no discernable reason - other than to perhaps confuse him.  

    _Maybe there is no reason._  Narcissa, after all, was not true Malfoy - unless of course his father had married a cousin (which he sincerely doubted and absolutely refused to consider).  There was no insanity in the Malfoy heirs - it was not allowed.  _Except for you - because she is your mother, and her blood runs through you.  It'd explain some things if you're going insane_.  For one, he might finally discover if he truly was the only boy to ever ponder on the motivation behind his mother's behaviour.

      They sat in silence as the muggle contraption rolled out of the long driveway leading from Malfoy Manor.  Draco watched as the gates swung close; the sun was rising.  It would be a three hour drive to Kings Cross Station.  

    Behind his mother's slender profile, he could see the driver's seat, wheel turning by itself.  After Great-Grandmother Adverto Lucis-Malfoy had died, the muggle chauffeur had been fired (and his memories obliviated) and the muggle contraption enchanted to drive itself.  There were charms all over the outside of the muggle contraption to ensure muggle law enforcers were too confounded to stop the contraption should they catch sight of it.  

    Narcissa leaned back against the black leather seats, "Of all the Malfoy ancestors, Great-Grandmother Adverto was my favourite."  She said.

   "Oh."  Draco paused, the answer didn't seem enough, "I did not know you had ever met Great-Grandmother Adverto."  _Especially since she died back in the forties._  The last left unsaid.  Politeness, though not required when in the company of his peers or Gryffindors, was essential for conversing with adults - especially when dealing with his parents.

   "A portrait of her is in my personal suite."  Narcissa continued in the same bland tone, "Though of course, it was taken when she was much younger."

Draco was silent; conversing with his mother had always been a rather disconcerting process.  Although he had been raised by first his nurse, then a series of maids, tutors and governesses, his mother had always shown a remarkable ability to seemingly read his mind.  Even his father - who had spent far more time with him throughout his childhood - was usually unable to understand his thought processes.  _But Mother always seems able to tell when I'm lying.  _It almost made him believe in that fable: maternal instinct.  _Some Slytherin - defeated by my own Mother._

    "I see you are wearing the Dark Lord's - gift."  The pause was discernable, "How do you feel?"

_What do you mean how do I feel?_ "The Dark Lord has honoured our family with his gift."  Draco replied politely.

   "You parrot Lucius very well."

_What?_ "I -"  he stared, unsure of what to say, "Thank you."

   "It wasn't a compliment, Draco."  Narcissa replied, still in that polite, bland voice, "I would have called you Drake."  

_What?_ "What?"

   "If the choice of names had been mine, I would have named you Drake."  Narcissa paused, "_Tendo te draco ignis, te scelero draco_.  So of course, your name became 'Draco'.  Blessed Merlin your father knew better than to call you 'Dragon'.  The Dark Lord was never very imaginative."

   "Oh."  _Tendo te draco ignis, te scelero draco.  Something, dragon's fire.  Something dragon.  .  .  Makes as much sense as whatever she's saying._

   "Indeed." 

      They were slowing to a halt in front of Kings Cross Station when Narcissa looked up, frowning, "Muggles - why must they be so - loud?"  she said and waved her wand.

Draco cast a glance out of the window, his face preparing a practised sneer of agreement when he realised that the street was mostly silent but for other (newer) muggle contraptions rolling gently past.  It was not like his mother to show the same level of hatred towards all things muggle-made and derived as his father.  _Nothing without a reason._

    The car jerked to a full stop before the entrance; there was a muted flash of light that hardened.  Draco held out his hand to gently touch the almost hard surface, tinted a light ivory.  It was concaved, curving around and over him and his mother.

   "A small _silencio_ charm."  Narcissa said as she opened the smoke grey purse he had barely noticed she was carrying and withdrew a small package barely the length of one of his fingers, "Give this to Professor Snape."   

   "What?"

He took the package when she pressed it into his hands automatically; it was heavier than its size might have implied.  Wrapped in plain brown paper that felt cheap to his fingers, it was tightly bound with the strange 'crinkle' that he automatically associated with strong wards.

   "Draco."  He raised his eyes to meet his mother's, "It is a gift."  She paused as he controlled the almost unconscious flinch - gifts and bad experiences had abounded this summer.  _Is it disloyal to call it a curse?_ Shades of remembered voices.  "Professor Snape will explain it to you more fully.  The wards are keyed to him."  

The words slipped out - they had a habit of doing so lately, "Why?"

She stared at him, face as unreadable as always, then with a slight flick of her wand: "_Finite Incantum_."  There was a brief pause and the ivory tinted surface flickered out of existence, "Come now Draco - I know you do not wish to return to school, but no Malfoy heir has been without a Hogwarts education since your Great-Uncle Mortimer."  She said, calmly opening the door and stepping out onto the pavement.

=====================================================================

**Author's Note**: _'Tendo te draco ignis, te scelero draco'_ - cookies (or chapter ten posted to them early ^_^) for anybody who can take a guess (and a correct one ^_^) at what it means.  Devout thanks for the one who guesses correctly and corrects my appaling grammer, spelling, tenses and sentence structure.  ^_^

Please note, in regards to the latin - I have never in my life learned even the basic structure of the language.  So if somebody could correct any obvious mistakes, I'd appreciate it.  ~cringes~****

Reply to reviews will be included with Chapter Ten.  Thanks to those of you (wonderful, perfect people ^_^) who reviewed Chapter Eight.  I do read them, I do take suggestions and corrections.  For those of you who are impatiently waiting for Draco and Harry action (0_0; Do note that the rating is PG-13 so if I did write the R rated scenes that the future of this piece might imply are required, I would have to release them seperately as PWP one chapter pieces) Chapter Ten will have the first link of that particular chain of events.  ~grins~

Great-Grandmother Adverto Lucis-Malfoy** - **yes, for those of you who caught it, 'Lucis' does mean 'Light' and 'Adverto' does mean 'turn to'.  Cheesy I know - but I couldn't resist.  The meaningfulness of Draco having a Great-Grandmother who's name translates as 'Turn to the Light'? Absolutely nothing.  After running past 'original characters' who all had strange and meaningful names from variously, the Latin, English, French, Italian (and on and on and on) dictionaries I just couldn't resist.  Great-Grandmother Adverto Lucis-Malfoy does not play a major part in the storyline, she might be mentioned occasionally, but only as part of Draco's rather long and involved family history/tree.  ^_^

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

**- edited 28/08/2002 for sentence structure, grammer and name errors**


	11. Platform Nine and Three Quarters

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

Author's notes after the story.  Enjoy and please review!

=====================================================================

**Chapter Ten**: Platform Nine and Three Quarters

      It was the first time in four years that Harry had arrived to Platform Nine and Three Quarters early.  Waking near dawn for the past two months had become habitual and he had found himself awake by six and ready by eight.  Professor Flitwick, moving slightly slower, had insisted on breakfast at nine - complete with another aborted attempt at 'talking'.  

    Harry glowered at the memory and tucked his trunk into place above the seat - it was easier this year; he must have gained some muscle.  He shifted Hedwig's cage into a more stable position on the seat, she hooted sleepily and blinked at him.  The Professor had followed him to the platform, waved his wand several times then admonished Harry not to leave the platform, the train or the train station.  _Where would I go even if I wanted to?_

    Hogwarts was the only place that felt like home other than the closet under the stairs at No. 4, Privet Drive.  _Bet Professor Flitwick would collapse if he knew I compared Hogwarts to a closet._  Harry thought, and had to grin at the idea of the diminutive professor at the height of anger.  _Besides - there's got to be something wrong with thinking a closet feels like home._

    The compartment and train were empty.  _Probably want to talk about that _too_._  He wondered if the 'talks' would continue during the semester - Professor Flitwick had certainly hinted a willingness to be confided too.  Harry's eyes widened.  _What if they _all_ want to talk to me?_  He groaned.  He could almost see himself trapped in some room surrounded by Professors - all bearing the same expression he had seen on Professor Flitwick's face.  

    _It wouldn't be so bad if he wanted to talk about sex and girls and stuff like that.  I can handle that._  Harry thought darkly; just before the Triwizard Tournament had been announced last year, the Professors McGonnagal and Flitwick had gathered the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor fifth year students and attempted a brief, embarrassed speech on various topics.  It had been hilarious at the time - Ron had been bright red for days, and every time Dean said 'the blind serpent must be guided to the apple's core' in Flitwick's high voice, they had all burst into laughter.  _I can deal with stuff like that._  What he couldn't deal with talking about was how he felt about Cedric Diggory - or Voldemort.  Especially not intersped with remarks on girls and hobbies.  _What does he expect me to do? 'Cedric Diggory is dead, and I brought back Voldemort.  Let's go have a sporting game of Quidditch'?_ He almost wished he had spent the summer with Snape - at least the Potions Master's snipes were familiar.  Snape wouldn't have cared if he didn't want to talk - would probably have deducted points if he _had_.  

    It was raining, a slow misting that cast the platform beyond the windows in a strange soft glow of light and blur.  It reminded him of the year he had needed a higher prescription, and had spent six months walking around squinting till the school nurse had noticed and sent him to the free clinic.  

    The clock above the platform read 'very early' - if Harry strained, he could make out the fact that it was a quarter past ten.  There were several other students arriving on the platform.  Mostly seventh years and prefects - the silver badges flashed against the dark school robes.  

    _You didn't get made into a prefect._  He had thought he would be; after all, his parents not only had been prefects, they had been Head Girl and Boy.  It had never been expressed or openly remarked upon, but he knew most of the students and faculty expected him to follow in their footsteps.  _I should feel - disappointed._  But - there was nothing, just a deep well of - emptiness.

    _Does _this _matter?_ The same tired voice whispered.  He had thought that enough sleep, food and rest would eventually cast away the apathy.  But it hadn't - and he rather felt that the sensation was permanent.  _There's nothing in here.  Nothing at all.  .  ._  Perhaps it was a strange after-effect of the ritual Voldemort had used.  _He's an evil megalomaniac - probably doesn't feel anything at all - how else can he do what he does?_  Harry thought glumly, _Maybe sharing blood with him makes it contagious?_ He could still laugh at least.  The compartment echoed his laughter back at him; he winced as he realised how hysterical he sounded.  _I bet Hermione would tell me to go straight to Dumbledore.  And Ron would want to know if it affected how well I played Quidditch._  

    _Should I tell Professor Dumbledore?_ Of all the adults he knew, surely the Headmaster was the one most likely to know a way to - _To what Harry? Make you feel happy again? Make you forget last year? Bring Cedric Diggory back to life? Magic doesn't work that way - it can't bring the dead back._  

*

      The platform was half empty, filled mostly with prefects and their friends.  Draco winced as he caught sight of another silver badge.  _At least Father didn't say anything about me not being chosen for the silver badge._  He thought.  

    Malfoys had always been prefects.  There had been a Malfoy prefect during every single momentous occasion listed in '_Hogwarts, a History_'.  His favourite story when he was younger had been of Great-Grandmother Juniper, Head Girl in 1945.  She had held the students together during Grindelwald's war, somehow managing to evacuate the residents of Hogsmeade to Hogwarts right under Grindelwald's eyes.  Before then, had been Great-Great Grandfather Eduar Malfoy who, as the Head Boy, had help set the wards and passwords for the (then) new Slytherin House quarters.  And before _that_ had been Great-great-great (many times great) Grandmother Siobhan Malfoy, who had been part of the creation of the wards that protected Hogwarts.__

    _Not that it matters - by July, it's all gone anyway.  Who cares about a shiny silver badge?_

    _Well yes, the bathroom might have been nice._  He had heard rumours that the place was huge (not just 'big', Pansy had said, but _huge_) - which would be a nice change from the bathrooms they shared with all the other Slytherins.  The cubicles were so small, it was impossible to turn without hitting yourself against a wall.  And nobody - except maybe Crabbe - used the common shower area.  Draco shuddered.  _The House Elves always skimp with the magical mold remover.  And they say the elves are impartial to the Houses.  Though if it's this bad for us and we're just the students, I wonder what Snape's private bathroom must be like?_  _Yuck - I bet that's why Snape never washes his hair._

    He pushed the thoughts from his mind firmly.  A Malfoy did not ruminate on what-could-be.  A Malfoy did not believe in destiny or fate.  A Malfoy _made_ his desires come true.  _A Malfoy doesn't wear a collar._  Draco jerked his chin upwards and forced a calm, controlled smile onto his face.

   "Thank you for escorting me to the train, Mother."  He said formally.

Narcissa nodded calmly and reached over to straighten the collar of his robes, "Do you have all you need for the trip?"

   "Of course."  Draco paused, something more was expected, "Father provided me with my weekly stipend."  _Of course, having spent the past three months in a set of enchanted _portraits _you, of all people, should know I have enough galleons to buy out a small business, _Mother.  But those words, and that bitterness, were not - permitted - in the demeanour of a Malfoy.  Especially not the Malfoy heir.

    Narcissa leaned down - he was slightly bemused to realise that his mother was still taller than he; adults generally shrank when children grew; so why then was it that his mother seemed always larger than he? - and pressed her lips against his forehead.

Awkwardly - as if even his indominatable mother was uncertain - arms reached around him, holding him close through his robes.  She smelled of mint and flowers, he realised.  He stiffened in the unfamiliar embrace.  

    "Be careful my dragon."  Her voice, a bare warm breath against his skin, was strangely comforting even as it was alien, "Your time to choose has finally come."

   "Choose?"  whether in unconscious imitation of her, or for some other arcane reason, he was whispering.

   "Severus will explain it to you."  She reached, dragging his arm to his robes pocket where the parcel lay, making no noticeable dent or bump, "Be safe."

And then, in a whirl of scent and expensive clothes, she was gone, walking through the growing crowd - a tall, slender women with ice-blond hair and blue eyes.  She did not turn back.

    _I will never understand my Mother._  Draco decided; he turned and pushed the cart containing his trunk, gear and owl cage to the waiting Hogwarts Express.

Narcissa walked through the barrier and the growing crowds at Kings Cross Station, looking neither right nor left.  The old rolls royce waited patiently at the bottom of the flight of steps; her steps were neither hurried nor slow and she waited patiently for the door to swing open as if by its own volition.  

   "Malfoy Manor."  Her voice, neither urgent nor revealing any emotion.

The rolls royce rolled away from the steps and into the traffic.  Narcissa lifted her wand to her face; the grip had her fingers white.

   "_Sano_."  She whispered; and beneath the glamour lying over her skin, burn marks receded, "_Sano_.  _Sano._  _Sano._"

She sat, staring straight ahead at the empty seat that bore no driver and the wheel that required no hand.  

*

      "Hermione!"  Ron called, "Hey Hermione! Over here!"

She really had changed during the summer vacation - but the change was one that he couldn't _quite_ put his finger on.  It wasn't just physical - he had grown taller too over the months, so really, it was all proportional, since he was still taller than her right? And it couldn't be her personality - she was still as smart, bossy and infinitely more mature than he as ever.  _It could always be the fact that she's grown these two whopping melons -_

    Ron clamped the thought down quickly, flushing.  _Well okay, so they aren't so much melons as apples.  Like the ones Mum uses for dipping in toffee -_  the blush depend.  _Nemue betrayed - I hope this doesn't continue during term or Hermione's never going to talk to me again.  .  ._  he thought, embarrassed.

   "Morning Ron!"  Hermione said; she was still wearing muggle clothes - _Well of course she is, dim-wit! She had to come here via the muggle Underground remember?_ - a pair of jeans and a sweater that made him idly wish that the girls' uniform at Hogwarts were a little more fitted.  _You're going to be in _so_ much trouble when she finds out what you're thinking._  

   "Are you all right, Ron? You're all red and flushed."  Hermione frowned, pressing one hand on Ron's forehead.

   "Ah - I'm fine.  Really - just - you know, early morning rush.  Same as always.  Ginny couldn't find her books, Pig wouldn't come down from the rafters and Fred and George were at it with their experiments all last night."  Ron said, the words pouring out in a rush that left Hermione blinking bemusedly, "Anyway - have you seen Harry yet?"  he asked.

The topic, like magic, turned her worry to more important (and safer) areas.  Hermione frowned, shaking her head - at least her hair was still the same, Ron thought thankfully.

    "Well, it's still early.  He usually doesn't get here till just before the train leaves."  Ron said finally. 

They both glanced up at the station clock, it read 'Still Early', but it was also possible to make out that it was current half past ten.  The Hogwarts Express was leaving at eleven that day and the platform was slowly filling up with families and students.  A thought struck Ron.

   "Hey, Hermione - I never congratulated you!"  he said suddenly, "I'm surprised you aren't in your robes already - Percy couldn't wait to show it off."  He paused then added hastily, "Not that you would show it off or something or -"  _Oh crap._  He winced, waiting for a glare; Hermione had never taken kindly to being told she showed off her abilities and intelligence. 

Hermione looked surprised however at his words, "Congratulate me about what, Ron?"

   "Being chosen to be the fifth year prefect."  The 'of course' went unsaid.  

Hermione, in front of Ron's amazed eyes, turned a slight shade of red - it didn't clash as much with her hair as he knew it did with his, he noted absently, "I wasn't."  she mumbled.

   "What?"

   "I wasn't chosen to be a prefect."  Hermione said louder.

   "Oh."  Ron paused; _Foot in mouth again, Weasley - smart move that._  "I'm sorry."  He finally managed, awkwardly, _Argh - where are you Harry? _

   "Don't be."  Hermione was blinking quickly, "At least now I have more time to prepare for my O.W.L.s - and there's this new class as well - but oh -!"  she jumped suddenly; Ron flinched and realised that she wasn't looking at him, but at the train, "Oh!"  her lips stretched into a wide smile, "Ron! Ron!"

   "What?"  Ron demanded, looking at the train.

   "It's Harry! He must have gotten here early and gone onto the train!"  Hermione said, and with that, grabbed Ron by the sleeves of his new school robes and dragged him over to the compartment window.

Ron blinked, and realised that the shadowy silhouette within - blurred by the rain - resembled Harry from the back.  Even the messy black hair was the same shape.

   "Hey Harry!"  Ron exclaimed, "Harry!"  he rapped sharply on the window; the figure within jumped, turning around to look out the window.  Familiar round spectacles caught the low light.

   "Ron! Hermione!"  there was a brief pause, then a slow smile spread over Harry's face; hastily he opened the window, leaning out, "How was your summer?"    

   "Fantastic!"  Hermione replied, "Did you see the article about Ron in the Daily Prophet?"  

   "What?"  Harry began even as Ron flushed.

   "It was nothing."  Ron said, "Did you get your birthday presents?"  he demanded, changing the topic quickly, "I wasn't sure since you didn't reply to any of the owls."

Harry reddened, "Yes - thanks.  I - well -"  

   "Those muggles stop you from getting your mail again?"  Hermione asked worriedly, "Really, somebody should tell them it's like interfering with the Royal Mail."  She huffed, then shook her head, "Never mind that! Come on Ron, let's grab our trunks - we'll be in there in a second Harry.  I can't wait to show you two the books I got from this little shop in Scotland - there's this amazing -" 

Ron glanced over at Harry, rolling his eyes as she continued her enthused description.  Harry's lips twitched but his green eyes were laughing.

   "Hermione - Hermione!"  Ron broke in finally.

   "What?"

   "Where'd you leave your trunk?"

   "In the last compartment.  It's usually where we end up in anyway because Harry's late.  Well except for Crookshanks.  Mum's taken him to see the veterinarian.  Professor Dumbledore said it'll be fine to have him sent by Express Owl Familiar Post next week."  Hermione said, "Where'd you leave yours?"

   "Last compartment as well."  Ron said, "Thought you two would be late too."

   "I'll get my things and meet you there then."  Harry said, ducking his head back in and closing the window.

   "He looks - all right."  Hermione said.

   "Shouldn't he?"  Ron asked.

   "Of course - it's just.  .  ."  Hermione frowned, then shook her head as if to clear it, "Come on - I really want to show you the book I found."

Ron followed Hermione, grinning.  _Hermione, Harry and me - everything's back to normal.  Fifth year is going to be bloody marvellous!_

*

      Smiling was - strange.  It felt as if he hadn't smiled in a long time.  Harry stared, bemused at the other side of the compartment.  _Looks like Fred and George got Ron new school robes as well.  And they've both grown._  He hoped he had as well - being short was all right so long as most of the others were too, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his life looking up.  He pushed his trunk down and started dragging it out of the compartment when he remembered his wand and drew it.  The motions for the charm felt familiar - even though he hadn't performed it for months.

    "_Wingardium leviosa_."  The trunk obediently lifted up into the air; maybe it was because this had been the first charm he had ever learned.

_    I'll have to come back for my gear and Hedwig._  Harry thought as he slid the door of the compartment open and gestured for the trunk to precede him.  _Hermione and Ron._  It was strange to feel - to feel.  .  .  To feel anything at all, other than tired.  _I really missed them._  It was a revelation - it shouldn't have been, but it was - as if something he hadn't realised had been missing, suddenly reappeared.  

    _Does _this _matter?_  The tired voice whispered in ghostly accompaniment.  Harry's eyes tightened as he walked out of the compartment into the passageway, trunk floating obediently next to the door.  _It matters.  They matter.  I'll _make_ it matter._  He decided firmly.

    The sound of a compartment's door being slammed shut echoed in the empty passageway, followed almost immediately by the sound of footsteps.  He turned just in time for Draco Malfoy to trip over Harry's trunk, and go flying onto Harry.

      There was a '_thud_' as Harry's head hit the hard wooden floor of the passageway, a muffled yelp from Draco Malfoy as he found himself propelled forward by inertia.  And then silence.

      Harry blinked; something soft was nestled between his legs.  Everything was blurry - his glasses had been knocked askew - and his hands were pinned to his side by a weight.

    A weight that was breathing; he squinted and realised that the weight had almost white hair.  _Malfoy._

    _I can feel his heart beat._  Or was that _his_ heart? _What the hell am I thinking?_ The knock must have damaged his brain.

   "Malfoy get off me!"  

There was a muffled groan; the almost-white blur shifted - Harry assumed this meant that the other boy had moved.

   "Potter?"  

His voice was soft - almost hesitant in shock.  He remembered, with sudden intensity, the two dreams that Draco Malfoy had been in - and how he had sounded in them.  _Almost human.  .  ._

   "Potter."  The drawl returned and the weight moved off Harry's arms enough for him to correct his glasses.

The world swam back into focus.  Draco Malfoy had grown during the summer as well - he looked - _Thinner anyway._  As if he had been stretched; his cheek bones stood out in stark relief and the shadows under his eyes were darker for it.  

Malfoy shifted, and Harry jerked as he realised the soft thing pressed between his legs had been Draco's _hand_.

   "Get.  Off.  Me.  Now!"  Harry squeaked even as the other, realising the placement of his body, did so quickly.

They scrambled to their feet, glaring at each other with equal degrees of embarrassment and anger.

   "You might not have heard of it - but in the wizarding world, we call them 'com-part-ments'."  Draco drawled the last word out, "We keep our 'trunks' in them - not in the passageway."  He continued in a tone of voice often used for simpletons or children.

Harry glared, and felt his hands tighten into fists, "Get lost Malfoy."  He snapped, and flicking his wand, followed his trunk down the passageway.

*

      Draco glared after Potter's retreating back, held from casting a truly vicious hex (purple spotted hair - annoying and vindictive, but not enough to have the school send an owl to his father at this early stage) only by the information he had grudgingly pulled from Gregory Goyle.  _Vincent's been sent to Durmstrang._  

    The Crabbe family had old magic - very, very old magic.  Old enough that he had grown up with Greg and Vincent.  They had been suitable 'companions' for his formative years, as his father had put it.  _Vincent's at Durmstrang._  He wondered how the boy who could barely pass potions - even with Snape's judicious favouritism - would survive in a place where the Dark Arts wasn't just Dumbledore's latest attempt at hiring a good Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher.  _Vincent's at Durmstrang._

    His hand went unconsciously to where his robe hid the collar.  _Vincent's at Durmstrang - as far from Hogwarts as possible without leaving Europe._

    "Draco."

He did not jump in surprise; Pansy stood in the passageway before him.  His gaze jumped automatically to her cheek.  Her lips twisted as she caught his gaze.

   "Cosmetic charm."  Pansy said, "Professor Snape said the mark should be gone completely by the end of the term."  

They stared at each other.

    His relationship with Pansy Parkinson was a strange one - they had known each other all their lives.  Often shared the same classes when partners were required for the lessons.  He knew she was an passable dancer, talented at the violin and pianoforte as well as the harp.  Her voice, though untrained, was adequate for singing.  They had entertained each other during long dinner parties.

    It had never been articulated - never spoken of firmly - but he had known (though when precisely he could not pin point) that they would be expected to marry one day.  He had known it for a long time - since he had understood the difference between boys and girls.  The - not acknowledgement so much as _knowledge_ - had given Pansy certain liberties that no other would dare take with him.  She was, unofficially - or perhaps not, considering the alternatives - his 'girlfriend'.  They had grown - more intimate - during their years at Hogwarts.  Certainly past the stage of tentative kisses, not quite the point of hasty groping or planned seduction.  

    He knew Pansy wanted more - that she found some cache of victory in having claim to him.  What person wouldn't - he was the Malfoy heir after all.  He wasn't completely sure how he felt for Pansy - other than perhaps, occasional irritation.  It didn't matter - marriage was for blood lines after all, and blood lines were all that mattered.  _Well yes - that and getting laid._  His hand brushed against the collar unconsciously; Pansy's eyes followed the motion and she shivered.

   "I'm sorry - about what happened."  Draco finally said.  _Politeness.  Such a useful tool._  

She jerked her head, "You couldn't help it."  

    They had reached an agreement - tentative and unspoken - at the end of their fourth year.  This year, with Vincent gone, there would be one less person to kick out of his dorm room for some much needed privacy.  _Sex!_

    He felt cold; and suddenly he wanted to be touched - wanted to be surrounded by people and talk and chatter.  Wanted to _not _be alone.  Draco reached out and stared wide eyed as she jumped away.

   "I said I was sorry."  Draco snapped, irritated, "You don't need to act as if I'm going to do it on purpose."  He knew he sounded petulant - and didn't care.  _I want to be touched! I want to be touched! Damn you girl - what's a Malfoy have to do to get groped around here?_

    The silence stretched and something cold shimmered down Draco's back.

Pansy stared at him, "Don't you know?"  she finally managed. 

   "Know what?"

   "You can't control it."  Pansy whispered, casting a look up and down the empty passageway, "That's what the torque is there for - except Daddy says it doesn't work very well.  Nothing does - none of them expected you to get so strong so quickly."  

The cold became ice and Draco felt himself stiffen, "Strong?"  he shoved the word out through a mouth that felt frozen.

   "Touching you burns, Draco."  Pansy whispered, "Even with the torque.  It hurts - and there's only so much the cosmetic charms can do."  

There was a burst of noise as several students hurried into the passageway, quickly choosing compartments.  Outside, the station clock read 'Right on Time' and the rain increased - a metallic tempo against the roof.

   "I - "  _Didn't know._  He wanted to say - but acknowledgement of ignorance was not something a Malfoy admitted.

   "You should take an empty compartment while you can, Draco."  Pansy said, not meanly - her eyes glittered strangely, "It's not safe to be around other people."  She slipped into the compartment, greeting Greg's grunt with a calm, if quiet: "Hello Greg - how was your summer?"

    Draco was left standing in the passageway; he touched the collar - even through the robes, he could feel the hard ridge where it sat, sliding into the hollow at his throat.  _Is it disloyal to call it a curse?_

    He felt cold; and there was an ache - not centralised but spread out, as if the entirety of his skin was suddenly aware that he would never be touched again.  _Mother walked away so quickly.  And Father was careful to wear gloves whenever he touched me._  Little signs that meant nothing till placed into perspective.  

=====================================================================

**Author's Note**: 

Congratulations to **Kouji **who translated the latin in Chapter Nine.  '_Tendo te draco, te scelero draco_' - which does have significance to the plotline (although not one where you desperately need to know the translation _right this instance_.  ^_^) but shall be explained further on.  Cookie (but really, **Chapter Eleven** posted to you early ^_^) to anybody who translates the latin phrases in _this_ chapter (and no, before you ask, there won't be latin phrases in _every_ chapter).  

**Kaeda, Lanna, Slytherin Witch, Annon, Drusilla, Gryph, Nexus, Sildtsr**: thanks - stick around, it gets more interesting.  

**JaneyLane, Lady Ron **- take it you like my portrayal of Harry? ~grins~ What do you think of Draco's characterisations at the moment? And the long awaited (if short) Draco and Harry scene?

As always, help, correction and flames on latin phrases (including correct grammer, sentence structure and word) would be greatly appreciated.  ^-^

Lastly - on **Chapter Eleven**'s estimated time of publication.  I have been releasing chapters on average, once every two and a half days (give or take half a day).  However, I've decided to hold off "**Without Question**" for a couple of days/a week or so while I work through a problem with Chapter Fifteen of "**Lust**" (a yaoi story revolving around Weiss Kreuz' Youji Kudou and Aya Fujimiya - if you want to read it, it's listed as one of the stories I've written).  Just in case anybody is worried, don't worry, as promised, I will finish "Without Question" - and that includes **Chapter Eleven** - and it will not be a very long wait, guaranteed.  ^_^

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

**- edited 29/08/2002 for some formatting errors**


	12. Sumptus Per Redemptio

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

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**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**Note **(04/09/2002) - Chapter Eleven has been modified and extended with what would have been half of **Chapter Twelve **(had I not changed my chapter outline).  Explanation with Author's Note after story.  Enjoy and please review! (Especially on the topic of depiction and characterisation on Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape please)

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**Chapter Eleven**: _Sumptus Per Redemptio_

If, somewhere in this god-forsaken world, there was a deity of Fate, Chance or even Chaos surely it (though Severus had the suspicion it was actually a 'she') had a perverse pleasure in meddling with his life.  How else could the turns and altogether far too melodramatic twists his life had taken be explained? _How else would I be found studying like some pimply-faced swot in this dust-ridden excuse for a library?_  

    With that in mind, the stern, dark haired man closed the leather-bound tome with unnecessary force (much to the surprise of Irma Pince).  Two months of research, and with a day remaining before the return of the infestation (as he referred to the students), his last resource had led to nothing he had not already known.

    "Is there anything the matter, Severus?"  Irma asked hesitantly - it was quite unlike the potions master to use the library, let alone with such vehement emotion.

After all, there was little (if anything) in the library's shelves on the topic of potions that Severus Snape did not already own.  

   "Severus?"  Irma repeated.

Severus, jerking out of whatever reverie he was in, turned, glaring at her more out of habit than actual malevolence, "No."  he said finally.  _Unless you have something heavy I can slam my head into - since that's about the same amount of help your books have given me._  But the insult was barely virulent, and certainly not up to his usual standards.  

    Irma watched worriedly as the tall, gaunt man swept out of the library, robes flapping behind him.  Idly, she wondered when Minerva would convince him to buy new robes; the loose fit of his current wardrobe made him resemble a giant bat hit with a transfiguration spell gone wrong.

*

Albus Dumbledore stepped through the fireplace into Severus' sitting room early that rainy September first to discover the potions master steadily downing the better part of a bottle of Kipsucker's Moonshine ('_guaranteed to keep them blast end skrewts at bay!_').

   "Severus, you wanted to see me?"

   "Albus."  Severus grunted.

Severus was not a conventional drunk - where else others in his position might have melted into puddles of incoherent (but humorous) reflections on life, the state of the political world and the pretty witch (or wizard, as it were) with that nice swish in her wand, the difference between the potions master drunk or sober was the distinction between irony and sarcasm.  The usual signs were neither apparent nor particularly obvious - slurring of vowels or shaky body motions mostly hidden and strictly controlled.  His mental processes might slow a trifle - but as he was hardly a verbose man and certainly one not inclined to hasty speech, this went unnoticed.  Had he been honest with himself - and he usually attempted that - this reaction to imbibing large amounts of alcohol was based almost completely on his reluctance to allow the last portion of control he had on his body, fate and life over to another entity.  _You-Know-Who and Albus - a thin line indeed to obliterate with alcohol.  Even if it _is_ -_  he blinked and frowned till the neatly labelled label on the bottle focused, _Kipsucker's Moonshine._  

   "I find lemon barley much more conducive to aiding the thought processes."  Albus remarked as he sat down in the wing chair opposite Severus and arched one eyebrow, eyes twinkling with misplaced humour, "I assume there is a reason for your indulgence, Severus?" 

   "Do I ever do this without reason?"  Severus retorted, carefully placing the bottle onto the table - to an onlooker, the gesture would have been barely of less speed than his usual grace.  Albus, who had seen Severus at both his best and worse, frowned.  

    The Headmaster flicked his wand; a tiny table appeared between the two chairs, complete with tray containing two teacups, and a metal pot from which wafted the scent of steaming, fragrant coffee, "Coffee? Two sugars and milk I believe."  The stately older wizard poured and proffered the cup and saucer to the younger man, "Now.  How goes your research?"  Albus asked calmly.

Severus took a swallow of the hot liquid before speaking; it was, of course, at exactly the right temperature to avoid scalding his mouth, "It has ended."

   "And your analysis on the possibility of a cure for young Draco Malfoy's affliction?"  

Severus leaned back, resting his head against the fabric of the chair (worn from years of such use) and closed his eyes briefly.  _Failure._  He had come to recognise its presence in the same way he matched ingredients in potions.  _Scent - bitter; taste - sour.  Effect varying from distracting, distasteful through to depressing depending on dosage._  It seemed strangely apropos that he had never been unsuccessful in any undertaking except that which mattered.  _Grim._

    Albus waited patiently, glasses reflecting the light from the crackling fire that lit the dim, windowless room.  

   "My research has uncovered nothing; if it is of the dark arts, it is of sufficient darkness that the Dark Lord did not find need for its implementation while I was his potions expert."  He placed the empty cup on the table; the saucer wavered slightly in his hand, causing the cup to rattle, "I _know _that potions are involved, and possibly arithmancy, astrology and - though I am loath to admit it - divinations.  However, all three arts combined would still require an administration of the product on Draco.  And for it to give him the power to _burn_ by touch alone - the product would have created several adverse effects.  Effects I would have noted in the past four years."  He ran a hand through his hair; wincing as fingers tangled.

   "And if the potions were administrated throughout the vacation?"  Albus suggested mildly, ignoring - perhaps kindly - the loss of composure from the taciturn man.

   "Any potion that produces such an effect would require daily administration over the course of _twenty years_.  Not only is Draco too _young_ but even in Slytherin, a habit such as that would quickly become common knowledge."  Severus snapped, then added grudgingly, "Within the dungeons at the very least."

   "Slytherin is famed for its reservation and protection of its own."  Albus murmured neutrally.

Severus glared at the headmaster but the heat in his gaze was subdued - no one knew better than he precisely how many of his housemates would be fighting on the wrong side in the war to come.  _Redemptio illi negotium proditor - for he who seeks absolution, does so at the loss of they who trusted him.  _

   "Sometimes, Albus - I wonder why you and the faculty don't cast Slytherin away and be done with your façade of impartiality."  There was a bite of bitterness in his tone - if he had not been drunk, he might have cared enough to hide it.

Albus was quiet, and took a sip from his cup before speaking once more, "You think it is a façade?" 

Severus laughed - it was a raw, short sound, "'_Never a wizard or witch gone bad that didn't come from Slytherin_' - I believe that is what they say."  He quoted mockingly, "The children are brought up to fear the House, the teachers look first to its inhabitants for the trouble makers, and on leaving, the graduates are looked at askance, blamed first for petty crimes and feared as the cause of greater ones."  He refused to look at Albus - and wondered if, when the taint of inebriation departed, he would find himself regretting this discard of pride, "Albus - they are -"  he paused, unsure of how to continue, "Slytherin is not -" 

How did one explain to the _Gryffindor_ Headmaster the inner workings of Slytherin House? No matter that Albus Dumbledore was one of the greatest wizards ever to live, the mores - and enmity - of Godric remained bone-deep.  " '- never more unalike were any two than the houses of Salazar and Godric - and the walls of Hogwarts shall never see Slytherin's courage nor Gryffindor's ambition -'"  Severus quoted softly; and was startled to realise he had spoken aloud.__

    Albus raised an eyebrow and poured the coffee; Severus accepted the cup and drained it quickly.  _This is the way a Slytherin begs, Headmaster.  Not by humiliation nor by physical action - but by revelation._  

    "The House of Slytherin have been living in the shadow of mistrust since Salazar Slytherin killed Godric Gryffindor."  He said carefully, "Children do not exist in Slytherin.  They grow quickly or fail trying - we allow them no other way, and surrounded by the hatred and suspicion, there is no where to turn but within for sanctuary and allies.  Slytherin have no friends who are not Slytherin.  And in this environment, festering with hostility, anger and frustration, there breeds nothing but prey and predators."  A breath; the coffee must have been enchanted - he felt too sober to be drunk, "They are formed by the actions of others.  And they are penalised."

Severus found himself forced to meet Albus' eyes, "Severus, child - did you have to drink yourself first into oblivion before speaking of this?"  

    And Severus was swept back sixteen years and a summer day when heat did not permeate the cold in the Headmaster's study.  _"Severus, child - forgiveness can be given, but such is absolution that it can only be bought."_  

   "Any other way -"  he stopped, "It is Slytherin's way."  He croaked finally, "Albus -"  the words would not come; he swallowed, "I do not know how to stop this.  I don't know how to cure the curse on Draco Malfoy."  

   "That is not what you are asking, Severus."  Albus said, and settled back into the chair, waiting.

Severus swallowed and cursed the enchantment on the coffee.  It would have been easier had he been drunk and capable of claiming temporary insanity.

    "Given the opportunity.  .  ."  he finally began, "Given the chance -"  he started again, uncharacteristically short of words, "Draco Malfoy -"  the words bit at his throat, refusing to be uttered, "He is not his father."  Severus managed finally.

And inwardly, he cursed the three other houses and their founders - they had laid claim on compassion but never allowed their fourth a share of it.  _And we, the inheritors of your actions suffer because we cannot ask, and only grudgingly accept._

    Albus waved his wand and the table with its accompanying tray vanished - back to the kitchens in all probability.  He leaned back into the wing chair, staring thoughtfully at Severus.

   "I cannot risk the other children, Severus."  He said finally, "The Order must remain a secret - news of its _existence_ must never reach Voldemort and his Death Eaters."  He paused, "The Order was established to create a haven - a sanctuary.  One child turned traitor, and our future - the future of our _world_ - dies."

   "How can they prove their trustworthiness if they are never given the opportunity?"  Severus retorted, and fell silent.  _Albus, they will _die_ without Hogwarts and your protection.  Die or be dragged into our war - and that is the same thing._  But those words would not be uttered - it was not, after all, Slytherin's way.  _How many remember that before Slytherin's betrayal, Godric stood by his side and spoke what Salazar could not himself say? Would _that_ talent passed on rather than his foolish, thoughtless bravery._  

They sat in silence, the only sound that of the crackling fire.  Severus was startled when Albus spoke once more.

    "Slytherin House is as much a part of Hogwarts as Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw."  Albus said softly, almost contemplatively, "And the children - and they are children, Severus, though they do not resemble the children of the other houses - as much a part of the future Voldemort seeks to destroy as any of the others.  Yes - even my 'precious' Gryffindors, Severus."  Albus smiled slightly, but his eyes no longer twinkled - Severus was startled at how serious the old man seemed, "Tell me, Severus - tell me of Blaise Zambini, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."  He held up one finger, "And please, child, forgo for now, your loyalty to House."

Severus stared, sightlessly, at the Headmaster.  _Failure._  Fifteen years to know that he could not change Slytherin - only watch its destruction.  

    "Severus."  Albus prompted.

When he spoke, it was without hesitancy, "They have lived in the shadow of their parents' choices all their life.  I believe that they would astonish - given the opportunity."

The Headmaster was quiet as he stared thoughtfully at Severus, "As the one I gave you?"  he murmured; Severus stiffened - and he wondered, as he had sixteen years ago, what price to place on a debt that would never be fully paid.

    "I hope you will join us for the Sorting and the Banquet tonight, Severus."  Albus said finally, "I am sure you have a potion prepared to ensure you are able to perform your duties as Head of House - adequately."

Severus watched as the Headmaster walked through the fire and vanished.  _Damn you Albus._  This was why he disliked speaking with the Headmaster - at least _centaurs_ had the honestly to speak in riddles.  _With Albus, either he has said what he meant, or meant what he said.  And we the luckless morons who have to figure out what he means._

    He glanced at the clock on the wall - which declared that it was 'too early to get dressed - but you might want to go wash your hair, you greasy git' (one of the seventh year students several years ago had managed to hex the clock and mirror and he had not, as yet, bothered to decipher the counter-hex).  Decisively, Severus Snape reached for the bottle of Kipsucker's Moonshine.  

*

      "Well, well, well - Potty Potter, complete with entourage of Weasel and Bookworm."  Draco Malfoy's drawl cut through Hermione's excited description of the ghost she had met while staying in a Scottish castle (" - Mum and Dad were aghast of course, and I had this dreadful thought: what if talking to ghosts counts as improper use of magic in an underage witch? But nothing came of it and Laird McDougal was ever so interesting.  You wouldn't believe the stories he told about Bonny Prince Charlie -").

Ron glared at the blond Slytherin, growling his habitual: "Get lost Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy however, ignored Ron, his attention focused on Harry, "Really Potter.  Fame - fortune - and girls I understand.  But in such a rush to meet up with these mindless sycophants that you forget common courtesy? How utterly plebeian."  He mocked and feigned a perplexed expression, "Oh wait - I forget.  Those muggles you live with never taught you manners -"  he flicked a glance at Ron, smirking, "And the Weasel of course, is unable to teach what he and that rat's nest he calls a family never touched with a ten foot pole."  Malfoy continued, grey eyes bright with glee. 

   "Go away Malfoy."  Harry said flatly, "Ron - just ignore the git."  He added.

Ron, turning a shade of red that matched his hair, gritted his teeth and turned away from Malfoy.  Hermione sighed - was it so much to ask that the fights didn't start till _after_ they had arrived at Hogwarts? And then realised that Harry - rather than calming Ron, or actively participating in the pre-requisite arguments prior to random hexes and jinxes - wasn't paying attention.  Not staring fixedly out the window or ignoring Malfoy - but actual distraction.  His retort had been standard fare - barely touching on the bile and vehemence that had marked all previous encounters.  _What happened during the summer, Harry? And why haven't you told Ron yet?_ She had expected that he would not share his thoughts with her - might have been hurt had she not gotten used to what her mother called 'the boy's club - mostly spitting, swearing and girls really' back in her first year.  Ron and Harry were her best friends - they truly were - but they were each other's best friends first.  _Yeah - and I'll get all melancholy about _that_ in about a week and a half but right now what's the matter with Harry?_

    " - something more?"  Malfoy continued, tilting his head back slightly; Hermione realised then that he was staring at Harry - not so much ignoring Ron as focusing his attention completely on Harry.  A Harry who was decidedly not paying attention, "Guess all those rumours _are_ true.  You and the Weasel indulging in a little wet-towel tag?"  an elegant eyebrow was arched - a calm gesture belying the intensity of his gaze as Harry didn't react.

Ron hurled himself out of his seat at Malfoy, incoherently spluttering, " - bastard!"  

Draco however had side stepped, and Ron ended up sprawled over the passageway - much to the surprise of a group of giggling third year Hufflepuff girls several feet away.

   "What? Nothing to say Potter?"  Draco continued, "Then again - the Weasel more likely to fight your fights now that you've lost your -"  he grinned, " - pole?"

Hermione, eyes wide, stared.  Draco Malfoy was insulting, he played dirty, cheated like - well, a Slytherin - and generally had made it his sole purpose to get as many Gryffindors as possible into trouble.  However, he _never _made sexually explicit taunts.  It was - well, _impolite_.  And crass.  (Not to mention, Hermione added privately, there was just too many retorts to turn onto the _pretty_, _blonde_, _slender _Slytherin if he took up the war on _that_ battlefield) _What's going on?_

    Harry, frowned as he realised Ron was frantically batting away the Hufflepuff girls, "What's Ron -"  shook his head and shifted his attention - and glare - to Malfoy, "Whatever Malfoy.  Take your delusions and go -"  he trailed off, staring over Malfoy's right shoulder, "Hermione,"  this in a confused tone, "_Why_ are those girls carrying pictures of Ron?"  

Ron in the passageway was squeaking: "No - I don't _want_ to sign that picture - where did you get that picture from?! I'm going to kill -"

Hermione tuned him out - it seemed a trifle misplaced to laugh during another infamous Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter fight.  She caught it then; the brief flickering downwards glance from Malfoy, aimed at - _Harry's groin?_

    Malfoy glared in silence at Harry for several seconds, then turned and stalked out of the compartment, brushing past a Hufflepuff girl - who yelped and backed up against the wall of the passageway, clutching her arm.

   "Soddin' prat."  Ron muttered, having finally rid himself of the Hufflepuff girls (who, Hermione noted, were clutching the pictures to their chest and giggling as they hurried into the opposite compartment).

The youngest Weasley boy slammed the compartment door shut and leaned against it, shuddering, "Remind me to kill Fred and George."  He added, "Should have known they'd do anything to make a few knuts."  

Harry frowned, "Ron - why - were those girls holding pictures of _you_?"  

    Ron went bright red.

    Hermione smiled as she watched Ron haltingly describe his summer adventure and his new found fame courtesy of a half-unbuttoned formal robe and the Daily Prophet to a bemused Harry.  Inwardly however, she frowned.  _If I didn't know better I'd swear Draco Malfoy was checking Harry out._  

*

      It made sense, in a convoluted fashion.  As it was obvious that the world was out to make _his _life as uncomfortable, annoying and unfair as possible, that Potter hadn't ended up walking funny due to an 'unfortunate' burn to sensitive portions of his anatomy made perfect sense.  As far as Draco was concerned, four years of similar reactions to intricately planned pranks should have taught him not to ever expect coming up on top where Potter was concerned.  _Bloody bastard must have been born under a lucky star on top of every thing else._  He snarled quietly as he stalked down the passageway.

   _I can't get laid, or touched.  Or even have an immature, adolescent groping in a dark corner somewhere with Pansy.  But Potter gets away scot free.  This is _definitely_ a curse._  Draco glared at a passing first year, who paled and backed up against the wall as the blond Slytherin strode past.  _Who would have thought this sodding curse needed skin-to-skin contact to work?_

    For several seconds, he contemplated a frenetic vision of jumping Potter and shoving his hand down the boy's pants -  _Well.  .  ._

     - which, while with merit, would probably be brought to the attention of his father fairly quickly.  _Definitely a bad point, that._  He paused, and added thoughtfully, _Not to mention the mental pictures that are _definitely _going to haunt my dreams from now on.  And eating at the Welcome Feast? Obviously out of the question now._  Draco decided, then brightened, _Hey - I can still get laid! Well, if we keep all our clothes on.  And maybe use some sort of thin cloth - and_ - he frowned as he tried to understand the exact dimensions required, and then shrugged.  _Well, Pansy and I can experiment till we get it right._

      Pansy was talking to Greg when Draco swung open the compartment door.  Draco's eyes narrowed - Pansy was _sitting_ next to Greg.

   "Draco."  Pansy managed, there was a flash of fear in her eyes.

   "I discovered something."  Draco drawled, hand on the compartment door, "Today.  Thanks to Potter and his mindless mob."

   "Thought your father didn't want any problems with Potter till - later."  Greg said in a low rumble.

Draco flicked a hand, "Father doesn't care so long as the school doesn't owl him with complaints."  He said off-handedly before turning to Pansy, sneer twisting to brief smile, "Seems this - 'gift' I have doesn't work so long as I don't touch -"  he breathed it out, " - skin."

Greg looked uncomfortable; Pansy - less wary of the need to hide most of her emotions, merely shrieked slightly.

   "Draco - Draco - the door -!"

    Of all the reactions Draco had expected - that had not been one.  He turned, despite himself, and stared down at where his hand touched the compartment door.  Thin tendrils of smoke drifted from beneath his grip - and the palm of his hand suddenly seared hot.

   "_Mata_!"  Draco swore as he jumped away and stumbled over Greg's broomstick (carelessly left lying on the floor; he ignored the fact that his lay beside it) and onto Pansy - who screamed and jerked away.

    There was a brief tangle of limbs that left Draco half sprawled over the seat and Pansy whimpering, clutching her leg as she curled up as far against the far wall as possible.  _Well - this is dignified._  Draco thought, pulling himself upright and running a hand through his hair distractedly.  _So much for Slytherin composure._  He shuddered to think what would happen if any of the other Houses saw them.  

    "Pansy?"  Greg rumbled, "Are you all right?"

Pansy was still whimpering.

   "Oh stop your snivelling."  Draco snarled, "I just hit you a little.  Probably not even a bruise."  _Honestly - does she have to be such a _girl_ about these things?_

   "I think she's really hurt, Draco."  Greg said in his slow, low voice, "Pansy - Pansy?"

   "H-hurts."  Pansy whispered, "It really - really - really - really - really - really hurts."  She said the words through gritted teeth, as if repetition alone would stop her from screaming.

Draco looked up surprised; there was a tear in Pansy's school robes, near her knee.  It ripped downwards - almost the same size as - _My hand._

    He leaned in closer - Pansy jerked backwards and was unable to do much more than press herself against the compartment wall.  The cloth and skin looked as if they had gone through a fire; blackened material and skin mixed with red, raw flesh.  He felt bile rise.  _Balor_.  

   "I - I did that?"  he whispered - _Through cloth.  Through clothes._

Pansy was shivering; without hesitation, Greg scooped her up in his large arms - he had grown taller and larger during the summer, Draco noted distractedly.

   "Draco - Draco."  

Draco blinked, realised Greg was talking to him, "What?"

   "You have to move."  Greg rumbled.

   "What?"

   "She has to see a prefect."  Greg said, there was a pause then, "To get healed."  

   "Oh."

Draco lifted his legs up onto the chair, far enough that Greg was able to walk past without touching even the edge of his robes.  _Bit far fetched that.  I mean, it's not as if my _clothes _can burn you.  If they could nothing would be safe would it? Sometimes you're really stupid Greg._  

    The familiar words, the scorn that would have tainted his voice was so familiar he almost spoke them.  But didn't.  

      The compartment was silent - the noise of other students selecting their seats and laughingly visiting each other muted by the closed door and the drumming rain.  The train's whistle made a forlorn, shrill toot and steam rustled past the window in a white mist.

    Draco eventually uncurled, placing his legs neatly on the ground.  He twitched his robes back into place - perfectly positioned to ensure no unsightly creases occurred.  A hand through his hair ensured it remained neatly in proper place.  

    And through it all, he refused to think.  Especially not of the gaping, burnt hole in Pansy.  Or Greg, carrying her away.  Or of Vincent - safe at Durmstrong.  _Not of Potter - who didn't feel anything at all._  

    His hand twitched; remembering the last person he had touched who had not flinched.  

The Hogwarts Express left Platform Nine and Three Quarters with a second shrill whistle and puff of steam.  Through the windows, students waved to parents.  The school year at Hogwarts had begun. 

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**Author's Note**: 

Those of you who read half of this chapter previously probably noted that I wanted to keep Severus Snape's monologue (well basically) on Slytherin and its children from Draco's reaction to Harry and the infamous "hands _where_?" scene due to the abrupt change in writing tone.  However, on rewriting Draco's reaction, I realised the humour was less evident and that the tone matched far more closely than expected.  Thus - **Chapter Eleven **gained two thousand more words.  Sorry about it - these things occasionally happen though I'm working to avoid it.

For those who are curious: 

**Mata**, in Celtic mythology, was a hundred-legged and four-headed monster captured by the Daghda.  **Balor** (also known as **Balor of the Evil Eye**) in Irish Celtic mythology was the king of the Fomorii - a giant with one eye; his lid was propped open by seven men and his direct gaze could kill whole armies. 

Congratulations to **Bienfoy **and **Kouji **- more specifically, **Bienfoy** for translating the **Chapter Ten **("_tendo te draco ignis, te scelero draco_") latin phrase, and **Kouji **for the **Chapter Eleven **quote (_"sano"_).  For the interested, "_sano_" is a healing spell - basically, '_health, healthy body_'.  As always, **Chapter Twelve **released early to those who translate any latin phrases (correctly!) in **Chapter Eleven**.  Do note, the title _is_ in Latin, as is something Severus Snape mentions.  Also - the inclusion of any Latin phrases won't occur in _every_ chapter (they just have lately).  Any phrases that are important to the storyline will, eventually, be translated as part of the story.  Everything else is part of characterisation or (since this is a Harry Potter fic written in fandom) a spell.  Intense thanks to the people who can correct my atrocious (I'm sure) spelling, grammar and incorrect choice of words when it comes to these phrases.  

**Bienfoy **- you did translate the original latin title of the piece correctly - which made me realise that I'd actually translated the English incorrectly.  Thank you! ^_^.

**Kouji** - thank you for your email review on **Chapter Ten **(forgot to mention this previously).  Much appreciated (adored, drooled over, read with a wide grin and made much of ^_^).

Replies to reviews, as expected, in **Chapter Twelve**.  

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

**- edited 6/09/2002 for spelling error**


	13. Blood and Survival

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

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**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**Author's Note**: Note, this chapter (Chapter Twelve) has been extended and revised.  Apologies to those who caught the end of my depressed rant against **Raw-Talent**'s (now removed) "Harry Potter Turns to God" fic.  As before, please do not flame **Raw-Talent** for his beliefs (it would serve no purpose).  Replies and responses to reviews at end of chapter.  As always, thank you for the reviews, I love them all (even flames - though I thankfully haven't received one yet), read them all and try and see if I can fit in suggestions or clarify points that bring up the most questions.  I'd really appreciate comments and criticisms on this chapter - especially on Draco's behaviour, current plot and Severus' turn of phrase.  Harry's behaviour and your opinion of it would be nice as well.

Especial thanks to **Kouji** who C&C this chapter but ended up beta'ing the revisions.  ^_^

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**Chapter Twelve**: Blood and Survival 

      The rain continued, a steady, misting fall - too light to be a downpour, too heavy to be a drizzle.  Harry glanced up at the sky as he stepped off the train onto the platform; grey - from horizon to horizon.  It suited his mood - a uniform, uninformative bland stretch of nothing.  _Not hate.  Not happiness.  Not anything - just.  .  .  Nothing._  He wondered, quietly, how long it would take to - adjust.  _How soon before it doesn't feel strange not to feel any more?_ He had gotten used to magic and Hogwarts.  Surely _this_ - which affected the external world in no way - should take less time.  _Will it always be like this?_

    "Pity."  

   "What?"  Harry shook his thoughts away and glanced questioningly at Ron.

   "The rain."  Ron said, tilting his head up to the sky, "Just for once it'd be nice to have some really hot autumn days.  Before school kicks in you know? Slogging over to see Hagrid in this weather is going to be a killer."

   "Where _is_ Hagrid?"  Hermione asked as she stepped off the train, brushing her robes smooth.

   "Probably scaring the first years -"  Ron glanced over the heads of the students - he had grown (again) during the summer, Harry noted.  

Ron had always been tall, now he was probably brushing the edges of six feet.  Next to him, Harry felt like a very short weed.  On the other hand, compared to Ron, _everybody_ looked like a very short weed.  _Wonder if I'll ever get that growth spurt._  

   "Hey - who's that?"  Ron's voice, overly loud, jerked Harry's (and that of everybody else within hearing distance) attention back to the conversation.

   "He's wearing the Hogwarts crest."  Hermione murmured, "Do you think he's the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher?"

   "This year, I say we save time, and start off with spying on the Dark Arts teacher first."  Ron whispered to Harry as Hermione tried to get a better view of the mysterious man.  

   "Honestly, Ron - just because Professor Quirrell, Gilderoy and Moody were all You-Know-Who's henchmen doesn't mean that _all_ the Defence teachers will be."  Hermione snapped, "Professor Lupin wasn't - remember?"

   "He was a werewolf wasn't he?"

Harry tuned out what sounded like the start of yet another Ron and Hermione argument (the fifth thus far - the first having started over the chess match they had started in the compartment, the fourth over Ron feeding Pig chocolate frogs) as he watched the mysterious man.

    He was of average height, with muddy-brown hair combed neatly.  He looked - normal.  If not for the Hogwarts-emblazoned robes he was wearing, he might have been a muggle.  

   " - Madam Pomfrey is waiting -"  one of the Slytherin Prefects said as he strode past Harry, nearly walking into him.

Goyle - one of Malfoy's goons - followed in his wake; Harry frowned - Goyle was carrying Pansy Parkinson in his arms; the extra weight seemingly effortless to the larger boy.

   "What happened to Pansy?"  Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione jerked out of their argument.

   "What?"  Ron frowned, "What's Pansy got to do with Mad-Eye Moody?"

   "Oh? Didn't you hear?"  Hermione frowned, "Neville told me Malfoy and Goyle had an argument and she got accidentally hexed with an incendiary charm.  The Prefects were kept busy all the way here keeping the pain-numbing enchantment going."  She shook her head, "Honestly - a simple ice-pack and a tranquilliser would have saved them the trouble and time."

   "Ice pack?"  Ron frowned, then shook his head, "Not another one of those crazy muggle things is it?"  

   "Ron! Just because it's different doesn't mean it's bad -"

And thus started another Ron-and-Hermione argument.

    "First years! First -"

*

      "- years - first years please!"  a thin, warbling voice called above the roar of conversation.

Draco barely noticed the thin, insignificant man wearing a Hogwarts crest on his robes calling for the first years.  His eyes were on Gregory Goyle's hulking form.  

    Standing at the back of the bustling crowd of students, Draco watched as Greg - carrying Pansy in his arms - and a Slytherin prefect, hurried off the platform and made their way quickly down the street.  He wondered where they were going, and if Pansy, pale and with tears streaming silently down her face - 

_    Malfoys do not apologise_.  His father's voice, stern and solemn, _Malfoys do nothing without reason and meaning._  Except - he had, hadn't he? Without actually meaning to - he had.  _It was her fault anyway, for getting in my way._  And cringed inwardly at such a childish excuse.  _Malfoys make no excuses._

    "Mr. Malfoy."  He did not flinch at the familiar voice, nor at the sight of his Head of House.

   "Sir."  

Severus stared at the boy evenly for several seconds, "Follow me."

   "The carriages are leaving -"  Draco stopped, mid sentence; stupid really, he should have known Snape would know - not just what had happened to Pansy, but about everything.  

It was an open secret - at least amongst their social circles - that Severus Snape had been a Death Eater during the last war.  And not just _any_ Death Eater.  Severus Snape had been part of the Dark Lord's inner circle: the most trusted and highest ranked of the potions experts.  His loyalty _must_ be above suspicion.  During the first few days of the summer, he had seen the Professor - albeit from a distance - with the rest of his father's 'crowd' as the Dark Lord re-established the inner circle.  _He was at the party - when I touched Pansy and it - happened._  Had been the one who had healed Pansy the first time.

   "Mr Malfoy, what are the consequences of _your_ presence of a wooden contrivance in combination with your rather volatile - _gift_?"  _Did he hesitate?_ Draco foundered; Severus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Do the world - and my patience - a favour, Mr Malfoy, if you cannot think for yourself then follow without question."  

He found himself watching Professor Snape stalk off the platform, robes swirling around him.  Eventually, he followed.

*

      Five minutes later, they were seated in the middle of the informal living area of Severus Snape's quarters.  Draco gritted his teeth and successfully quelled the urge to squirm beneath his Head of House's dark gaze. 

   "Need I remind you, Mr. Malfoy, that the Dark Lord's - gifts -"  that damnable half-pause again! So slight a hesitation that Draco wondered if it was merely his traitorous imagination.  _I'm going crazy.  Just like Uncle Mortimer - except without the fairies._  " - are for use in his effort and his name alone.  Not for use in adolescent posturings to gain Miss Parkinson's admiration."  Severus said, voice a velvet rumble of anger, "Somehow - despite the direct orders of both, I am sure, your father and the Dark Lord - you have managed to draw unwanted attention to Slytherin House in situation worthy of Potter's attention-seeking behaviour.  The blame for Miss Parkinson's current extended stay in the Infirmary under the already suspicious eyes of Madam Pomfrey - only adds to my rampant disbelief."  He paused to drag a breath in, eyes blazing with anger, "Tell me now why I should not deduct fifty points from Slytherin for your stupidity and leave you to your housemates for reducing Slytherin to negative marks _this early in the year_!"

Draco opened his mouth - and found himself conflicted.  _Tell him Pansy was groping me and it was self defence.  She and Goyle tried to pull the collar off - and I was protecting the Dark Lord's plans.  Tell him Potter put me under Imperius - no, that'd just be demeaning.  Tell him -_

   "It was an accident sir."  

   "An accident?"

Draco did squirm then under Professor Snape's bland tone - and promptly felt ashamed; he could almost see generations of ancestors glaring down at him from their portraits at such un-Malfoy like behaviour.  To show weakness before an inferior (and all who were not Malfoy were inferior).  To speak the truth - when it would gain him nothing.  And yet, a part of him wanted to release the truth that bit and struggled to be spoken: _It was an accident! I didn't meant o hurt Pansy.  I didn't mean it - it wasn't supposed to happen._  No - the whole truth was that he hadn't _known_ he could hurt Pansy to such an extent.  But saying those words - speaking absolute truth - 

    _Malfoys are never unsure._  Thus, Malfoys never made mistakes.  _Perfect.  Always._

   "Yes, sir."  

In his mind, he stood in the Portraits Gallery at Malfoy Manor, and his ancestors glared angrily at the deterioration of standards that had produced him.  _Shame boy!_ Their voices echoed in chorus, _A Malfoy does not serve.  A Malfoy does not bow.  A Malfoy does not -_

    A Malfoy did not wear a collar.  _Which leaves me where?_ He didn't want to think of this - _What else can I do?_ A cynical voice that sounded more plaintive than angry muttered, _Lie? What for? He's _Snape_ - he knows everything anyway.  Besides, there's going to have to be - special arrangements._  Anti-incendiary charms on everything he used; he _did not _want to suddenly find himself naked in the Great Hall, clothes reduced to ash.  _Not that the girls wouldn't like it.  .  .  _

_    Not that _I_ could do anything about the girls liking it._  Depressing thought that - _Chastity, thy name is Draco._  His father had lost his virginity at fourteen.  Draco was fifteen - a whole year behind already.  _If I hadn't gotten distracted with that whole Potter fiasco last year I'd probably have gotten further with Pansy._  Another reason to wreck vengeance on Potter and his cohorts - except for his father's wrath.  _Potter gets away scot free.  _Again._  And I learn abstinence and chastity - words I'm sure he can barely pronounced let alone understand.  Bloody bastard._    

   "Is that all you can say in your defence?"  Severus demanded, voice quiet, low. 

   "Yes, sir."  Draco finally said, feeling defeated.  _Malfoys are never defeated - they strategically retreat._

   "You are still wearing Lord Voldemort's collar?"

Draco flinched and nodded, "Yes sir."  More seemed expected, so he continued, "I haven't taken it off since Father gave it to me."  _Put it on me more like._

    After he had destroyed the charmed mirror in his - _Prison._ - quarters.  He imagined he could feel the silvery metal sliding beneath his robes, ridge standing out against the heavy material like some sort of mark of the Dark Lord's ownership.  Draco raised his eyes to meet Severus' gaze, flinching slightly before straightening his shoulders in a semblance of composure and arrogance, "It is said that even the Dark Lord did not predict the strength of my gift."  He said with as much pride as he could imitate.  

Severus arched one eyebrow, "And yet, the collar's influence on your gift seems to be working perfectly at the moment, Mr Malfoy."  Draco flushed - he couldn't help himself, "Strength and power are useless without control, Draco - and my hypothesis is that your control is mediocre at best."  

   "Sir."

   "That is not an answer - that is a noun."  Severus snapped, then shook his head, "Don't answer - there is only so much inanity possible on an empty stomach.  The Welcome Feast should be starting - and your presence, no doubt, dearly missed -"  at this, the potions master sneered, " - by your fellow housemates."  He stood, "Draco."  And paused; for several seconds he merely stared and Draco fought the urge to squirm or show any discomfort at the unreadable blank gaze, "Slytherin House is renowned for intelligence, guile and knowledge.  If you must cheat, stab and plot - do so with some semblance of discretion."  He sighed, rubbing a hand through his lank hair, "Go." 

    It seemed to Draco that he spent too much of his time obeying the orders of others.  _A Malfoy leads - so why is it that everybody tells me what to do?_ He wondered briefly if his mother's blood could truly have diluted the Malfoy blood to such an extent.  _Oh right.  Mother's gift._

   He pulled the tightly bound package from his robes pocket - undamaged despite the excitement in the compartment.  Undamaged despite his touch.  _Stupid collar can't even work right for all the indignity it puts me through._  Beneath his fingertips, the wards buzzed.  Draco looked up to find the potions Professor staring at both him and the package with a strange expression.

*

      The Malfoy heir had been sent to the Sorting and the waiting Welcome Feast, figurative tail between his legs, along with the briefly denuded adolescent ego.  It never failed to amuse Severus how easily Draco Malfoy - for all his posturings and adopted airs - became an exact duplicate of his father.  Not Lucius as he was now - or even as he had been by the time they had graduated - but as the nine year old Severus had first met decades past.  _You succeeded in moulding him into your exact duplicate, Lucius.  I wonder if you'll ever understand that._  

    Draco Malfoy was very much his father's son.  Severus occasionally wondered if he had ever been allowed to be anything else.  _Well, except in potions.  In that at least, he takes after Narcissa._  There at least, the academic brilliance Lucius had shown, was tempered with interest.  _Not very much - and probably only for mischief-making, but at least there's interest rather than aristocratic disdain._  

    He had hoped, when he had first seen that interest, four years ago, that there was more to Draco Malfoy than a generational clone of his forefathers.  

    Severus turned his thoughts back to the package in his hand.  It was small, barely the length of his hand, with a width of no more than two fingerlenghts.  Beneath his touch, the wards - distinctively layered and coated till the binding crackled with magical energy - felt smooth and impossibly dense.  

    The oldest pure-blood families tended towards specialisation in the magical arts - but that had been in the time before it became 'in vogue' (so to speak) for pure blood families to teach their children only that which were related to the forbidden dark arts.  Even he and his family had fallen prey to the fashion of the period; his knowledge was strongest in those potions related to dark magic.  Centuries of his family's academic work in light magic potions lay lost in dusty tomes of old lore and spells in the family manor.  He had promised himself that one day - when it was all over, and if he lived - he would find the time to finally understand the work his great-grandmother had dedicated her life to.  

    The Du'Lér family had been no different than any other pure-blood family.  Their focus had been on wards; Narcissa had mentioned once - a long time ago - some sort of family legend for the cause of the specialisation.  That too was not unknown - he had been brought up on family lore, the reason why a Snape, above all else, was brilliant at potions.  Malfoy, no doubt, did the same with Draco.  The Du'Lérs were a very old family.  Almost as ancient as the Goyles and Crabbes - though there at least, intelligence had not been sacrificed for inbred purity of blood.  The last male Du'Lér - Narcissa's father - had power of such extent that the strongest of his wards had been unbreakable.  He had read - quite some time ago - of wards impossible to create without Du'Lér blood.  

    Narcissa Du'Lér had been a power in Slytherin House in her own right before she had married Lucius Malfoy.  Many forgot that her lineage - and power - was as great as Malfoy's own, Narcissa encouraged the obliviation of such knowledge.  She had not used her maiden name in sixteen years - not since she had left Hogwarts.  _So why now? And why so obvious a sign?_ He hadn't known Narcissa had retained the specialisation of her family - it was something she had certainly never passed on to her son.  _Either that or he is far stupider than I realised.  The mind shudders at the thought of an adolescent ward wizard of Du'Lér blood playing pranks in Hogwarts._  The oldest and strongest of Hogwarts' wards were of Du'Lér creation.  _Damn; Dumbledore will have to know about this.  If the Dark Lord ever stoops to use a female in his plans, he has a weapon in Narcissa Du'Lér capable of damaging the school wards._  Severus frowned - at the moment, the anti-apparation wards were very likely the only thing stopping Voldemort and his Death Eaters from infiltrating the castle in a more obvious manner.

    The clock on the wall announced that he was _very_ late for the Sorting - but still early for the Welcome Feast.  Normally, he would have already been there, leading the applause for any child sorted into Slytherin.  The package however - disturbed him.  The wards sang beneath his fingers - an unheard song that set his teeth on edge and quivered with fear, urgency and smug knowledge.

    Emotions he had never thought to see from Narcissa Malfoy.  _Why?_ And to entrust Draco as messenger - rather than any of the fleet of owls the Malfoy family kept for that very purpose.  _With their distinctively bred appearance and their traceable flight paths._  He wondered how Narcissa had slipped the package to Draco.

    With a decisive flip, he drew his wand and slipped it over the packaging.  The wards did not so much open or break as absorb and identify his magic.  The package split open in the palm of his hand, revealing a small ruby attached to a short glittering chain and a bauble on a spike.  On closer inspection it was revealed to be an earring - of a style he remembered being fashionable amongst the Slytherin girls when he himself had been a student.  Confused, Severus stared at the earring and wondered if insanity ran in the Du'Lér family line (or if Narcissa had somehow caught it from Lucius, who as far as Severus was concerned, had never been particularly stable).  _The wards and a convoluted method of delivery - all to give me an incomplete set of earrings?_

    The parchment that had bound the package writhed; as he watched, text began to appear - a glowing line of words forming before his eyes.  _A letter._     

_Severus,_

_My loyalties, as always, must lie with my blood.  Fifteen years - almost to the day that I write this - I was shocked to realise it included one blond haired, screaming brat.  By that time of course, it was already too late.  Both for you and for me.  You already know of what Lucius' ignorance and blind faith has done to my son._

_Lucius is a fool.  He blindly trusts the Dark Lord will ensure his heir remains capable of propagating the Malfoy line.  Perhaps he even believes that the Dark Lord can somehow aid the Malfoy family retreat from its current precarious position at the edge of extinction.  I myself do not wish to risk the last child of Du'Lér blood on such fallacy as the Dark Lord and his petty, testosterone fuelled dreams of dominance and world conquest.    _

_You were ever weak at academics unrelated to potions, Severus.  However, I have never been able to fault your perseverance.  '_Tendo te draco ignis, te scelero draco_'.  Start there.  You have till Christmas.  After that, it will be over._

_Enclosed is all that I can do for Draco given the current political situation and my place within it.  Lily Evans saved her son at the cost of her life - I hope that living fifteen years _for _Draco will at least protect him from the future he has been unwittingly sold to by Lucius.  Once you understand, do as you would with it.  If you decide to give it to him - then tell him I am sorry I could find nothing more suitable.  It will clash with everything in his wardrobe (it had better, I taught him that much at least) but an item of jewellery in a woman's possession for fifteen years must be _above suspicion_._

_I entrust you with his future, Severus.  Do not fail me as you failed your wife._

_By my hand,_

_Narcissa Du'Ler né Malfoy_

_Lady Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor_

      Hidden between the lines was Narcissa's knowledge of his double life during the last war.  That should have been his first thought.

    Implied was the knowledge that he was a traitor - the only one in the inner circle of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters.  That should have been his second - if not only - reaction.  

    He should have already found Albus and alerted the rest of the school.  Narcissa Malfoy was the _wife_ of a Death Eater in Lord Voldemort's inner circle - what she knew her husband should as well.  

    Severus traced the last words.  _Your wife._

    His laughter was rough - choked and perhaps touched with a hysteria he would never admit to experiencing.  The sound echoed strangely off the stone walls.  _An acknowledgement of understanding? A warning? A threat? The similarities between our situations - her's now, mine then - are obvious.  But what do they _mean_?_

     He re-read the letter once, twice - and then a third time.  Finally, he closed his eyes.  _Loyalty only to blood.  Survival at all costs.  Salazar Slytherin would be proud that at least one of his chosen remembered the dictates of his House._  _Would that the rest of us had recalled it too - perhaps then we would never have entered this war between dark and light._  Albus would have to be told.  The Death Eaters had a witch of Du'Lér blood who was fully trained.  That they had her since the end of the _last_ war meant nothing except perhaps Lucius' astonishing lack of timing and a hereto forth unknown (though much suspected) chink in Voldemort's prejudiced recruitment practises.  

_    Merlin - I need a drink._  He stared at the earring; the ruby, dangling in a setting of silver, shone with the clarity of extreme expense.  _Only the best for a Malfoy after all - and if the best is also the most expensive on the market, all the better.  _His lips twisted into a grimace of distaste.  Lucius had ever been one to flaunt his wealth (discretely but flaunt it nonetheless) - yet another trait successfully passed on to his son.  

    The fire reflected the ruby, casting shades of blood across the stone walls.  He held it up to the light, and watched as it turned.  He could feel the power embedded into the stone - the spells tied to blood, life and some strange amalgamation of both.  _To conceal, to protect.  To hide and heal and shield.  What is it you know of Draco's 'gift' that I do not, Narcissa?_

    The quotation gave no clue - despite her allusions of one.  He recognised it of course - what potions maker would not? It was the premise and promise that formed the ethos of the art.

*

Hufflepuff had gained the greatest amount of new students that year.  Of course, there had only been fifteen first years - Harry had heard some of the Ravenclaw sixth years saying that quite a few families had refused the Hogwarts letter, sending their children to other schools instead.  The Ravenclaw had looked around before whispering something to her partner and they had both looked solemn and hurried towards their table.

    Harry hadn't needed to hear what was said to know the gist.  Familiar faces were missing in the crowds - there were less students this year.  Neville had mentioned he had only just managed to stop his Grandmother from sending him to the Institute of Magic in Brazil.  

    And the Hufflepuffs and quite a few of the Ravenclaws were wearing black and yellow armbands.  

   " - right mate?"    
Harry jerked back from his thoughts as he realised Ron - seated on the other side of the table - was talking to him (or at least attempting to through a mouthful of mashed potatoes).

   "What?"  

Ron rolled his eyes, "Blimey Harry, you've been completely out of it all day.  You haven't even eaten anything."  He added.

Harry shrugged and poked the sausage on his plate, "Not that hungry."  He said, "What did you want me to pay attention to anyway?"  he continued, hastily biting the sausage before Hermione, on his other side, could worry.

Ron frowned, pausing, "Damn - can't remember - no wait! Yeah - looks like Malfoy got off again."  He said, "Doesn't even look like Snape chewed him too much either."  He added the last around a mouthful of chicken and carrots, "Slimy git - doesn't even bother to pretend he's being fair."

Hermione made a face, "You could at least swallow before you speak, Ron."  She said, "No wonder Harry isn't hungry,"  she quipped, before turning her head, "Wonder what his punishment is."  

Harry turned as well; Draco Malfoy was walking down the length of the Slytherin table to take his usual place beside Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson.  _Where's Crabbe?_

   "Hey - where's Crabbe?"  Ron asked, echoing Harry's thoughts.

   "Probably at Durmstrang like the rest of them."  Hermione said, turning back to her food, "Slytherin has to be the smallest House this year.  Don't you think so Harry?"  she paused, "Harry?"

   "Uh - yeah."  Harry said - it was true, most of the missing faces came from Slytherin.  

There were barely more than three hundred students.  Unfortunately, most of the fifth year class was still there.  _Potions is going to be just as hellish as last year then._  Harry thought, _And Malfoy's gotten worse than last year - if that's possible._  Though his taunts were rather strange if what he'd said on the train was any example.  As Harry watched, the other Slytherins moved away, creating an empty place around Malfoy.  _Stuckup prick - making even his housemates treat him like he's some sort of royalty._

    Harry turned back to his dinner and continued poking the sausage as he waited for the feast to end.  _I wonder where Hagrid is._  

    The half-giant wasn't at the high table - Professor Dumbledore hadn't however, introduced a new Care of Magical Creatures professor.  _I only ever got that one letter from him at the beginning of the holidays.  Just saying he was going on a trip and wouldn't be able to write._  He wondered if Hagrid had sent a birthday present that year - Dudley's morning raid and being thrown out of Number 4, Privit Lane hadn't given him much chance to rescue the cards and letters.

    Across the Great Hall, he caught a flash of black, yellow and shining brown eyes.  He froze, and ducked his head.  _Cho Chang._  She was sitting on the Ravenclaw table at the other end of the hall wearing a yellow and black band.  

    He was surprised at the pang of grief and hope and lust and what he thought might be love that briefly constricted his heart and made his breathing speed up.  And other things to get interested - but he was fifteen so that was more or less normal (at least he hoped so).  It seemed there was still some things that he could care about.  _Cedric's dead and I'm lusting after his girlfriend.  .  ._

     He poked at the sausage.  

   "Looks like Snape finally managed to make it."  Ron remarked; Harry looked up more from reflex than any true interest.

Professor Snape hadn't changed much since the last time Harry had seen him in the middle of the holidays.  His hair was just as greasy looking, and his robes still flared around him as he stalked in through the small door off the side of the high table.  Surprisingly, the potions master didn't sit at his usual seat but made his way to Dumbledore's side.

    Dumbledore paused in mid-bite and glanced inquiring at Snape before leaving the Great Hall behind Snape.  

   "Well - that's strange."  Hermione noted quietly, "Do you think it's got anything to do with what Draco Malfoy did to Pansy Parkinson?"

   "Nah - bet it's to do with the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and You-Know-Who."  Ron replied.

Beside him, Neville froze then shivered, "You don't really think so, do you, Ron?"  he asked.

   "Come on Neville - after four years with those three you should know that anything they notice _has_ to be some sort of plan of You-Know-Who."  Dean called from the other side of Ron; in the candlelight and the flicker of lightning from the enchanted ceiling, the silver of his prefect's badge gleamed.

   "Better be careful this year."  Seamus hooted from Harry's right, "Or Dean might take points for breaking school rules when you three sneak out to save the world."  He laughed as Dean glared, "I still can't believe it, Dean.  How'd you manage to make Prefect?"

Harry tuned them out, turning to stare at the door Professor Dumbledore and Snape had left through.  _What's going on?_

*

      "_Tendo te draco ignis te scelero draco_?"  Albus frowned, "If my Latin serves - he who would control the dragon's fire corrupts the dragon."  The Headmaster paused thoughtfully, "I see no current relevance to young Draco's situation - other than perhaps that the effects of his unfortunate gift does bear a startling similarity to that of fire."

Beyond the door, Severus could hear the buzz of four hundred students conversing - no doubt on the topic of why the potions master would arrive late and depart immediately with the Headmaster.

   "Not all things revolve around Draco Malfoy - or the Malfoy family."  He said, "Which makes Narcissa's choice of usage all the more confounding.  The phrase is not unique - it has a hundred derivations.  I know it as the maxim of potion makers - our ethical guide if you would."

   "Wise guide indeed.  Those who seek dragon's blood should be wary of being unfortunately cremated before death?"  Albus asked; Severus gritted his teeth at the older man's twinkling eyes and inappropriate humour.

   "The metaphor states: the power of that which is wild and freely given exceeds that which is bound and enslaved."

   "A wise truism on the world at large."  Albus said, thoughtfully, "I take it that for you, it refers to potions ingredients?"

   "Of course."  Severus said, "However, I am at a lost to understand what Narcissa Malfoy meant."  He frowned, "Unless of course she refers to the spell cast upon him - some derivation of what we already know - using purely wild components.  An increase in strength perhaps.  .  ."

He trailed off as he realised Albus was no longer listening but deep in thought.  The Headmaster smiled suddenly, "Severus, my suggestion is that you speak to Minerva on this."  And with that, the Headmaster swept back into the Great Hall, leaving a startled potions master standing alone in the tiny staff entrance hall - confused and feeling the affects of his drinking spree.  Despite (or perhaps in spite of) the anti-inebriety potion he had consumed.

_Damn him and his riddles.  Must that man be forever five steps before the rest of us?_ Severus thought, glaring at the (now) closed door before sighing.  _Narcissa - you have not changed since seventh year.  And that in itself is as fearsome a thought as the knowledge that Draco Malfoy has _your_ temperament by blood inheritance._  

=====================================================================

**Author's Note**: Ah, the plot is picking up.  And finally, there is an explanation for that first latin quote (that **Kouji** translated all those chapters ago ^_^).   

**silddki **- is this enough Draco POV for you? ^_^

**Kandra** - sorry, Draco and his anxiety and how everybody handles *anything* will come when people actually find out about Draco's idiosyncratic 'gift'.  ^_^ Plot plods slowly forward ne?

**Bored Beyond Belief **- (firstly - interesting pseudonym ^_^) **Kouji** and I actually exchanged several mails about  Severus and his reactions and reasons.  Suffice to say, there is more to the Slytherins than evil minded children (well okay, so they are in most parts evil minded children - but then most children are evil in some way, that doesn't make them *evil*-take-over-the-world though ^_^).  

**KDay2**, **Juliet**, **Annon** - thank you

**Kcgal** - 'torque' thing and usual formula? 0_0 Guess I wasn't as original as I thought.  ^_^ 

**Bienfoy** - once more, thank you.  And what do you think of Chapter Twelve?

**Ashfarley** - I did download 'Medication' by Garbage - have you tried 'I Try' by Jonatha Brooke? I keep hearing it replay in my head whenever I sit down to write 'Without Question'.  Meanwhile - underrated? I hope you don't mean that I should have rated it higher (cause one more and I'm going to have the whole 'how do I write a slash scene ANYWAY' problem I have with 'Lust' ^_^).

**silvershadow**, **FatalDreams**-**Seducer** **of** **Fantasy** (0_0 Interesting pseudonym ^_^) - Thank you!

**Kandra**: thanks - I worried a little over Narcissa Malfoy.  There is a large lack of information about Narcissa in canon, which makes writing her a dangerous place to go when you want to avoid plot-induced Mary-Sues.  ^_^

**MistyKasumi** - ah, Ranma 1/2 fan? ^_^ Thank you for your kind comments, and hope the extension to Chapter 12 made it all the better.

Finally - if I've missed anybody, I _did_ read your review, but couldn't find it while trying to pick them all out of the review section at FF.net.  

By the way - anybody worried about the new NC-17 censorship? There are quite a few NC-17 stories that are rated that highly simply for 'safety' by the author.  I'd miss reading '**Only This**' by **Blue**, '**Mirror of Maybe**' by the ever incomparable **Midnight Blue** not to mention that most of the _very_ good stories in the anime section are NC-17 rated.  ~sigh~ Guess my plans for fleshing out Draco and Harry's 'relationship' (in the future) will have to be shelved unless I can find an archive somewhere.

Ah well - one day in the future I guess.  Should probably get around to making my own site I guess.  ^_^

And as always - reviews, comments, criticisms all appreciated.  Flames laughed at (unless they're constructive in which case they will be read and mulled over).

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**


	14. The Plural of Pegasus

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

Thanks to **AshFarley**, **Kandra**, **Silvershadow **and **MistyKasumi** for your reviews (and **Kouji** who is C&C~ing via mail ^_^).  **AshFarley **- I do wish more people would read **Without Question** but there doesn't seem to be anything else to attract interest so - I'll just keep writing and hope eventually those who are interested will read it.  ^_^

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**Chapter Thirteen**: The Plural of Pegasus

      _The room was dark - it was always dark.  He knew that he was not dreaming._

_    A vision of Voldemort's plans then; he paid attention, attempting to gain a better view of where he was and who was there.  The room however, was merely dark.  There were no windows - there was nothing but stone walls and floors._

_    A candle flickered on the floor, his sight was drawn to the scattered shadows that danced around the light.  He realised that there was something trapped in the centre of the flame._

Not trapped.__

_   A tiny dragon, serpentine head thrown back, wings spread - and so small that it was outlined by a blue corona._

    Not trapped._  It was not trapped - it burned by choice.  Or fuelled the flame by choice._

What does this mean?

_      Torches lined the walls, casting the shadows away.  He was standing beside the candle, surrounded by Death Eaters.  He could hear a high keening sound - it took a while to realise it came from the tiny dragon._

_    He stared at it; it still screamed within the flame - fuelling the fire by choice.  The wings swept up and down - almost lazily._

_   "Watch."_

_The voice was familiar; he turned.  Voldemort was as he remembered - and his eyes glowed as red as it had before summer had ended; he seemed - stronger.  Healthier._

_   "What do we witness, my lord?"  a Death Eater asked, voice hollow through the mask._

_The keening grew in pitch till he wondered how it was that the Death Eaters could still speak and hear each other speak.  _

_    The flame flickered once and died.  The keening stopped.  In the silence, he could see Voldemort's smile - a flash of white against thin, peeling lips._

      Harry woke up and drew a shaky breath.  With the sudden realisation that came without warning, he realised the keening had come from the dragon.  _What was that supposed to mean?_

    Groggily, he pushed apart the drapes and stared out at the silent dorm rooms.  It was early enough that the sky beyond the window was still tinged with grey.  _Should I tell Professor Dumbledore?_

    Seconds later he sighed.  _Stupid question._  His scar ached in the morning cold, he prodded it with numb fingers as he slipped out of bed and across the room past the oblivious, sleeping others.  He wondered idly if he should mention the other dreams he had during the summer.  _What am I going to say though? Dreamed about Draco Malfoy during the vacation - he wore white robes and spoke in riddles.  Makes lots of sense that._  He yawned and wondered what the password to get into Professor Dumbledore's offices would be.

*

      Ron groaned as he slammed his head down onto the table, making the plates around him bounce.

   "What the -"  Dean Thomas, having been in the process of pouring milk over his cereal, jerked backwards to avoid the spilt milk.

Harry grabbed for the toppling stack of toast, narrowly missing splatters from Neville's orange juice, "What's wrong, Ron?"

   "Have you seen this year's schedule?"  Ron moaned, "They're all out to kill us."

   "I don't know _what _you're talking about Ron.  It doesn't look too bad."  Hermione piped up - she was grinning; Harry was suddenly struck by the fact that he had missed something, "Not as good as it could be, but adequate."

   "Traitor."  Ron snarled mournfully, "Knew there was a reason why you started taking different classes from us back in third year."  He continued, voice muffed from its current position.

   "Pays to be smart doesn't it?"  Hermione said, looking smug.

   "What are you two talking about?"  Harry finally asked - before the twelfth 'Ron-and-Hermione argument' (and it was only the first day of school - really, they seemed to have gotten worse since last year) could start.

   "We have every-bloody-thing with the Slytherins.  _Everything_."

Harry blinked, "What? Even divinations?"  Divinations was always held in single-House classes. 

   "Even bloody divinations."  Ron slammed his head down onto the table again, muttering what sounded vaguely like: 'bloody Malfoy and his bloody goons twenty four seven for the rest of the year - might as well kill him now it'll save time and aggravation and bloody Dumbledore what is he trying to do make us blooming loons cause that's what we're going to be being around Malfoy and not punching his nose down his throat and -'  By this stage he had started banging his head in time with some internal beat.

   "Mate - I know you're suffering, but if you hit the table one more time there's going to be pain involved."  Dean shouted - possibly to be heard over the '_thump_-_bang-clatter_' of Ron's head hitting the table, followed by the cutlery and plates around him bouncing in sympathetic kinetics.

Ron looked up - it wasn't like easy-going Dean to be angry - and blinked then started laughing.  Harry glanced over and stared: Dean was covered in milk and cereal.  His breakfast bowl, along with the jug and the cereal container had evidently spilled with the last thump.

   "So what do we have first?"  Harry asked as Hermione attempted to intervene before a food fight began ("Dean! You're a prefect now - you're supposed to show an example to the other students -").

Ron - backing away hurriedly from a murderous Dean - glanced down at the parchment by his (undisturbed) plate, "Care of Magical Creatures."

   "Well - we've always had that with the Slytherins so it should be exactly the same as last year."  Hermione said having decided Dean was unlikely to attempt murder and returning to her seat.

   "Yeah - torture."  Ron muttered; "Awk!"

The last as Dean calmly poured a hastily procured jug of milk over his head.

*

      Contrary to popular believe, there were windows in the Slytherin dorms.  Small ones that looked as if they were missing bars - but windows all the same.  Each dorm room laid claim to at least one window - the fifth year quarters were no different.   A thin beam of morning sunlight streamed through the greasy, dust-ridden glass, outlining a pale patch of stone.  

    "Snape is going to go spare."  Blaise remarked into the silence.

Draco dragged his eyes unwillingly away from the stream of sunlight bleaching the patch of stone wall.  _Malfoys do nothing without purpose._  Familiar words - his father had repeated them in some form throughout the past four years.  Usually in regards to his absolute failure to win against Potter in _anything_.  _Quidditch season starts in two months._  Draco swallowed the instinct to close his eyes and refuse to open them ever again.  He wished he had never heard of Quidditch.  _Or 'torques'.  Or You-Know-Who and Father._  He winced as one of the drapes collapsed to the ground in a flurry of ashes.  

   "No - I mean _really_ spare."  Blaise continued in the same matter fact tone.

Last night had been humiliation enough; while Blaise Zabini and Gregory Goyle had watched, Professor Snape had cast anti-incendiary charms on his bed, the sheets, drapes and all his clothes.  Nothing he could conceivably touch while asleep would burn.  Not without a _finite incantum_.

    Except this morning he had rolled over to find himself jerked out of sleep by Blaise cursing blue murder and what felt like a torrent of freezing cold water courtesy of a jug of water and Gregory Goyle's aim - or lack thereof.  

    "Really, really, _really_ spare."  Blaise continued.

    The _air_ had been burning.  Bright blue flames dancing over his eyes.  Of course he had jerked upright in shock - and horror and other adjectives.  After all, waking up to find the air in flames wasn't exactly conducive to happy thoughts.  He had pushed Greg away before he had even thought about it - and one of the dancing blue flames had caught against the other boy's arm.  Greg had flailed around like a landed fish, catching the drapes of _his_ bed on fire.  _And_ what would have been Vincent's - had he not been safely at Durmstrang - _and_ Blaise's when he had started rolling on the closest surface to suffocate the flames.  

    "_Really, really, really_ -"

   "Blaise?"  Draco said, voice flat.

Blaise blinked, "What Draco?"

   "If you must insist on hyperventilating verbally, attempt to do so in a manner befitting your station."  Draco drawled; there was a brief pause, "If you say 'spare' one more time, I'm going to shove my hand so far through your face, you'd look worse than Weasley."  

   "Oh."  Blaise shut his mouth - Draco withstood the urge (fairly easily given the circumstances surrounding - and in the case of the scorch mark, _on top of_ - them) to smirk.  _Malfoys threaten with _style_._  This, at least, he could do.  
Greg chuckled - always one to understand the humour in violent threats.  There was silence as the three boys continued to stare at the destruction that had _once_ been the fifth year dorm-room.

   "Snape is going to be _mad_."  Blaise declared.

Draco sighed, cradling his head in his hands, "An understatement."  He said finally.

   "Won't the House Elves fix it?"  Greg rumbled hopefully.

Draco looked up, taking in the four beds (three of which were heavily scorched), the heavy drapery hanging (or disintegrating) from the posters, the ashes (all that remained of the tapestry of some unknown hero of Slytherin House) and the scorch marks (pretty much everywhere else).  

   "Snape is going to kill us."  Blaise - yet again.

   "We've missed breakfast."  Greg finally ventured into the rather one-sided conversation.

Draco swore - fluently, creatively and desperately, "We're late for Care of Magical Creatures."

    Snape wouldn't kill them for the damage they had managed to wreck onto the dorm rooms.  _Well, maybe Blaise and Greg._  Draco thought as he, followed quickly by the other two boys, ran out of the room, school bags (smelling vaguely of scorched fabric) bouncing against their sides.  _I'm in for worse._  Death was the easy way out - as his father often stated.  _Oh no - Snape's not going to _kill_ me._  Draco thought, _He's going to tell Father._

To top it all of, they had Care of Magical Creatures with that giant-sized half-wit, Hagrid.  With the Gryffindors.  _A curse - definitely a curse._  

*

      "Minerva."  Severus said as Minerva McGonnagal made to rise from the high table.

The few remaining students in the Great Hall paused in their own leave-taking - it was an unusual sight (at least at breakfast) for the Head of Slytherin to speak cordially with the Head of Gryffindor.  Especially when the Head of Slytherin had appeared late (or not at all given he had arrived moments previous) for breakfast and looked as if he had an extremely late night (or early morning) fighting unknown dark creatures.  Several of the seventh years remaining would later spread the (rightfully true) rumour that Professor Snape had been sporting the after-effects of a hangover cure.

    Severus gritted his jaw at the thought of these rumours; and realised with a frown that Draco Malfoy and the rest of the fifth year Slytherin boys were missing.  Normally they were the last group to depart from breakfast - both because of Gregory Goyle's interest in food and Draco Malfoy's laconic approach to punctuality (neither early nor late - it had been Lucius Malfoy's standard as well).  He cursed inwardly as he realised that their absence probably indicated trouble.  _Can that boy not understand _timing _if not discretion?_

   "Severus."  Minerva tilted her head politely, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

He nodded, "Albus suggested my research would be furthered by speaking with you."  He said quietly.

Minerva paused, frowning, "He did speak with me.  Briefly."  They shared a short frown of agreement at the Headmaster's idiosyncratic treatment of both staff and students, "The scrolls are in my office."

   "Scrolls?"  Severus' frowned deepened.

   "The phrase is - obscure."  Minerva said, "Thus, as is always the case at Hogwarts, it has become a favourite source of research for extra credit assignments."

   "I did not know potions were of such interest that our maxim was a source of research for your students."  Severus said mildly after a brief surprised pause. 

Minerva smiled, a thin lipped affair, "Not as much transfigurations, Severus, as Gryffindor.  Godric to be precise."

It was a surprised Severus Snape who followed Minerva McGonnagal out of the Great Hall.  Whatever path to knowledge Narcissa Malfoy _nee _Du'Lér had wanted him to learn from her oblique words, he had not expected it to be in anyway related to Godric Gryffindor.  _Novel premise - knowledge in combination with Gryffindors._  He snorted mentally.

*

      "Hagrid!"  Ron shouted, "Hagrid!"

   "Leave off, Ron - I don't think he can hear over the racket."  Harry shouted into Ron's ear, grinning as he leaned against the wooden fence that corralled the edges of the pasture that had sprung up outside Hagrid's hut.

It was a beautiful day autumn day - the grey storm clouds had washed away with the morning sun, revealing cloud-scattered blue skies.  A brisk wind blew spray from the lake and the grounds gleamed with a fresh coating of dew.  A large tentacle drifted out of the lake as if the octopus beneath was stretching.  He drew in a breath and held it till his lungs ached.  The morning seemed impossible - as if the magic that pervaded Hogwarts' stones had somehow created it specifically to wake him up.  _Maybe everything will be back to normal today.  .  ._  Maybe he would finally wake up from feeling as if his emotions were frozen under a layer of ice.  It seemed hard not to be - well, _happy_ - on a day that was so utterly perfect.  Professor Dumbledore knew about the dream - which meant that somebody else knew about whatever it was Voldemort planned (even if he personally had no idea).  He was away from the Dursleys (though technically he had been away for most of the summer).  He was at Hogwarts, the only place that felt like home.  And he was with his friends.  _I should be happy.  I should be happy._

    Perhaps if he repeated it often enough, if he smiled and pretended long enough, it would eventually become true.  Eventually, perhaps, it would all be as it had been last year.  _Cedric Diggory is dead; magic can't do anything - if it can't bring back the dead why should it make you be something as frivolous as happy?_  He shook his head; forcing himself to grin at Ron's joke.  _If I keep trying - and pretending - sooner or later -_

    "They're beautiful."  Hermione breathed, drawing his thoughts back to the present.

Ron made a face: "Girls and horses, they're all the same."  He whispered (or at least uttered at less volume) into Harry's ear, "Ginny use to refuse to sleep without her Happy Horatio the Hungry Horse doll."

Harry grinned in response.  It seemed expected (although the thought of what Ginny would do to Ron if she ever found out he had revealed a childhood story of _her_ to _him_ was also rather humorous).  Hagrid was in the middle of the pasture, surrounded by winged horses.  Or at least they seemed to be in the shape of winged horses.  One never knew the precise nature of Hagrid's creatures till later (usually after the results of the lesson had been healed by Madam Pomfrey and Hermione had finished researching the exact bite circumference in the text).  For all Harry knew, the winged horses could be shape changing faeries with poisonous spit.  

    The winged, horse-shaped creatures were large - though they still seemed like miniature ponies next to Hagrid.  Currently, they were arranged in a circle, all watching Hagrid as he groomed the largest horse (black, with white wings).  The watching winged horses thumped their large hooves against the ground.  The vibrations shook the earth and echoed in the air till it seemed as if they were standing next to a muggle music band (like the group Dudley had briefly obsessed over during the summer - the one who seemed to have less words and more beat than anything else).

   "They're not horses, you idiot."  Hermione was saying, rolling her eyes, "Honestly - after all the trouble you went to get the textbook, didn't you even _read_ it?"

Ron widened his eyes, "'Read'?"  he said, "Why ever when _you_'re around, Hermione?"

Harry intervened before the two could begin arguing again, "What are they if they're not horses, Hermione?"  

She smiled brightly at him (Ron glared), "Well, I'm not sure about the rest of them, but the one with Hagrid is a pegasus.  Well, I say 'a pegasus' but really it should be _the_ Pegasus."

Ron frowned at the herd of winged horses, "If the middle one is a pegasus, then shouldn't the rest of them be pegasus -"  he paused, "Pegasusus? Pegases? Pegasususus -"  he paused, looked conflicted and groaned, "Bloody hell Hermione - now it's going to bug me till you tell me.  What's more than one pegasus called?"  he demanded, almost aggressively, of Hermione.

Hermione frowned, "I'm not sure.  There was only ever one pegasus.  More than one would be like having a plural for Armageddon -"  she frowned, "What _is_ the plural of pegasus?"  

For some reason, both of them turned to stare at him.  Harry shrugged, "What's a plural?"  he asked.

Hermione groaned, "Oh god.  It's worse than I thought - you're _both _ idiots."

   "'God' - isn't that the muggle thing with that deity who's always with you.  Even when you're in the shower?"  Ron quipped and ducked as Hermione hit him playfully.

And thus started yet another Ron-and-Hermione-argument.  Harry was beginning to think they weren't so much fighting as _flirting_.  Of course, he wasn't exactly very good at noticing these sort of things.

*

      Greg and Blaise had decided to detour to the Great Hall in hopes of grabbing some leftovers before the house elves cleared breakfast away.  Draco had found both of their pre-occupation on food (given the current state of their rooms - and Snape's predicted reaction to it) strange but waved them away impatiently when they had looked uncertain at leaving him alone (as if he needed protection - him a _Malfoy_!).  He headed straight for the half-giant's hut and the first Care of Magical Creatures class.  Being early resembled actions more likely of that swot Granger's far too much but at least he would get a lay of whatever trials the idiot Hagrid intended.  And, with any luck, he would have enough time to think up an excuse to avoid being savaged by whatever creature they were meant to tame today.

    _At least this year if anything tries to bite me I can burn it._  Draco thought, and grinned as he flexed his hand, _I can say that my powers are increasing and I don't know how to stop it - wandless magic and all that._  He grinned, then sighed.  _And that excuse will last about as long as it takes for Dumbledore to tell Father that my emotional control has deteriorated to such a stage that I'm capable of wandless magic._  He shuddered.

    He had shown signs of magic at age eight (rather late for a Malfoy admittedly, but his father had worked with him to ensure he did not fall behind).  His father had started training Draco immediately to ensure his emotional control was such that wandless magic became impossible.  He still had nightmares of shattering the Dark Lord's champagne flute just because some Death Eater's wife (wearing a revealing robe) had leaned over to talk to him.  Not that it had occurred - but his father's description had been material for increased vigilance.  _Besides, wandless magic might be useful in a tight spot - but it lacks a certain finesse and elegance in execution._

*

      "Oh great."  Ron groaned, dropping his head to the fence, "Malfoy's early."  He declared, "Just our luck."

Harry glanced over just in time to catch the sun reflecting off silver-blond hair.

   "Really, Ron - he hasn't actually _done_ anything yet this year."  Hermione pointed out logically in the background, "Other than be nasty that is.  You don't need to act as if Malfoy being around is the start of some insidious plot by You-Know-Who."

Harry ignored the argument that started then (something about Malfoy being a Slytherin, Slytherins being evil and Hermione not learning after four years that Malfoy always did things for a reason) turning his attention to Malfoy.  The other boy made his way carefully across the lawns to stand several yards away, staring at the winged horses in the coral.  The sun shone brightly, catching the dew that still remained on the lawns and Draco Malfoy's hair. 

    _He looks normal._  Harry noted absently.  _When he isn't a smirking git with a nasty mouth or being an evil Slytherin working for Voldemort._  If it weren't for the distinctive hair colour and the Slytherin crest embroidered on his robes, Malfoy seemed like any other student at Hogwarts.  _There should be a tail or horns or something.  Some big sign and an arrow saying 'look out, evil git alert' - some sort of warning._  Harry mused - and wondered if he should mention this to Ron.  _Better not - knowing Ron, he'll tell his brothers and they'll figure out a charm that does it - and then Gryffindor will end up in negative points._

   " - right Harry?"  Ron suddenly demanded.

Harry turned his attention away from Malfoy (_Why am I thinking about _Malfoy_?_) to answer Ron, "Probably - I mean, this _is_ Malfoy.  He's _evil_ Hermione - since first year, remember?"  He pointed out practically.

Hermione shook her head, "Just because Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater doesn't make Draco Malfoy one."  She said, "If traits like that were inheritable, Ron, you'd be working in the Ministry and fiddling with muggle things like your Dad."

Ron shrugged, "Probably will by the time I'm his age - adults are all barmy anyway, at least Dad's honest about it."  He said with a grin, "Though we'd still have to figure out what went wrong with Percy."  He shuddered, "Honestly - sometimes you'd swear he had his wand shoved up his -"

*

      It figured that Potty and his gang of luckless lackeys were early as well.  Draco swallowed the urge to cast some choice hexes while their backs were turned.  Not only because his father would have had his hide - but also because Snape (especially after discovering the remains of the dorm room) would be.  .  .  _Disappointed._  

    Draco frowned at that thought, absentmindedly watching the half-giant groom the head stallion of the herd of pegasuses.  _Disappointed._  It seemed a strange way of describing his Head of House's expression when a Slytherin failed to maintain the high standards expected (especially as most others would describe that same expression as 'chilly', 'evil', 'promising much pain', 'vindictive' and 'pass me a change of underwear please').  

    Draco respected Snape, if only out of fear of his wrath (as any sane, intelligent person might be given the man was his Head of House and had the power of life, suffering not to mention the ability to inform his father on misdeeds) and possibly envious of his higher rank within the Death Eaters - but he did not like the man.  For one thing, there was the lack of personal hygiene (Draco himself had carefully revised his personal bathing routine after meeting Professor Snape for the first time).  Not to mention lack of properly fitted robes (really, swirling robes were a little passé).  _So why is what he thinks of me so important?_

    Draco shook his head, Potty Potter's insanity must be contagious.  Nothing Snape thinks of me is important.  I'm a Malfoy - and the Dark Lord himself has chosen me to be, alright, the brainless sword he wields but that's better than being a stupid Death Eater potion-brewing minion any day.  He turned his attention irritatedly back to the herd and abruptly found himself face to face with a curious pegasus.

*

      "Now i'n't that strange?"  Hagrid said cheerfully as he brushed aside a pegasus two hands higher than Ron.

Harry, who had been busily attempting to avoid mentioning his birthday (or letting Hagrid apologise for not being able to send a gift that year - " - but it's with Fang.  You shoul' come pick it up tonight.  Maybe come have some tea as well, 'arry.") blinked, "What?"

Hermione frowned, "What's Malfoy doing to that colt?"  she asked, staring over Harry's shoulder.

   "Would you look at it - never thought I'd see the day."  Ron said, eyes wide, "An innocent, normal, intelligent creature _actually_ liking Malfoy."

Harry turned - Malfoy had been approached by a small (comparatively considering the larger ones towered over even Ron) pegasus who was currently lipping at Malfoy's face and hair.  The Slytherin looked thoroughly disgusted and was attempting to bat away the attentions of the pegasus colt.

   "Probably thinks his hair is edible or something."  Ron continued, "Maybe it's looking to nest?"

   "Don't be silly, Ron.  Just because they have wings don't mean they build nests."  Hermione admonished, "Right Hagrid?"

Hagrid grunted in agreement, still staring at Malfoy, "Unusual for such a youngin' to take such an interest like that."  He mumbled, "Very, very strange."  The half-giant looked worried, then shrugged it off, "Ah well - sure no harm wil't come o' it."  He said, "Now - how's 'bout you lot come t' tea t'night?"  he asked, turning back to Ron, Hermione and Harry.

The three shared a glance.

   "Well - maybe for a while, Hagrid."  Hermione said finally, "It is the first day of classes.  But I'm sure I can spare an hour from taking notes and everything."  She glanced at Harry, then her eyes widened, "Oh! Oh!" 

    The wind caught the scent of burning flesh just as Malfoy began to shout in alarm.

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**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**


	15. Time

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

R&R greatly appreciated - might even prompt me to move faster.  [hint hint?]

Reply to reviews and author's note after chapter.

=====================================================================

**Chapter Fourteen**: Time

      _Nonsense.  Absolute nonsense._  Severus thought, irritatedly dropping the scroll and picking up the next one.  _A complete and utter waste of -_  he paused as he recognised the neat handwriting that covered the parchment.  _Hermione Granger._  Not since Remus Lupin had there been a Gryffindor who should have been sorted into Ravenclaw.  Which just went to show that environmental factors rather than basic abilities played a larger part in the Sorting Hat's process then even Albus Dumbledore would admit.  _Let's see what repetition of literary disgorgement you will use_.  

    He rubbed his eyes, furious with himself (and Draco Malfoy) for wasting his one free morning reading through what had turned out to be twenty replications of four theories.  And while it was vaguely interesting (he lied, it was completely without use and utterly boring) that the Gryffindor House Colours were, according to legend, representative of dragon fire (which, as far as he was concerned, was the only excuse there could be for something as blindingly glaring as scarlet and gold) he _did not care_.  Not to mention the Gryffindor students had all been lacking of imagination, analytical skills and in love with their own ability to extrapolate from a Latin dictionary and several history books (largely '_Hogwarts: A History_') twenty inches worth of text.  He wondered if he could remove points from Gryffindor for unimaginative prose.  

    "Severus."

Severus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he shoved Hermione Granger's scroll into the pocket of his robes.

   "Minerva."  He glanced to the clock ('Start preparing for your first class - you anal-retentive greasy bastard') and waited.

Minerva shook the ash from her head, "There's been an - incident."

   "Concerning?"

   "Mr Malfoy."  

Severus swallowed a groan of disgust.  _Why am I not surprised? You do your ancestors proud, Draco - you have turned into an exquisitely charmed _expletus exemplar_ version of your father_.  He felt the beginning of a tension headache.  

 "The Infirmary?"

   "Albus is waiting in his office with Mr Malfoy and -"  Minerva paused before adding, " - and Harry Potter."

_    Complete with Lucius' excruciatingly bad choice in enemies and allies._  Severus mentally cursed Draco to the nether regions of any hell available.  _Unfortunately, he has the Malfoy charm - if he ever thinks to use it for anything other than making enemies, that is._

*

      "Are you _sure _you're all right, Ron?"  Hermione asked worriedly.

Ron nodded, "Yes Hermione, I am fine."  He promptly yelped as she hugged him, "Watch the arm! The arm! I'm not _that_ fine!"  he grimaced.

She jerked back (_Idiot! Hugged by a girl and you tell her to stop.  Next thing, you'll be made a prefect and then they might as well call you _Perfect Percy_ and put you out of your misery._), "Oh! I'm so sorry!"

Ron forced his lips back into a strained smile, "No harm done."  He said, then added under his breath, "Nothing permanent that is."  Hermione heard and glared briefly before staring at him worriedly, Ron sighed and added in a serious voice, "Honest.  Besides - good day when I get to skip out on classes ain't it?"  

She frowned - as he had expected, "Really Ron, with that attitude, what are you going to do come time for the O.W.L.s?"  she stopped, "Oh never mind that - you sure you'll be all right?"  she asked uncertainly.

   "Yes, Hermione.  I'll be fine."  Ron said rolling his eyes but grinning; it was nice to have someone who _wasn't_ his mother pay attention to him - especially when it didn't involve the twins, schoolwork and that incident with the raspberry tarts.

Hermione nodded, and stood, "Do you -"  she paused, then added quietly, "Do you think Harry will be all right too?"

_Why is it always Harry?!_ Ron startled, astonished to find the thought in his mind.  _Of course she's thinking of Harry too.  He's our best friend.  So she'll care if he's all right as well.  Right?_ "He wasn't burned at all - lucky bastard."  Ron said.

   "Oh Ron, you aren't still angry that he didn't end worse off - after everything that's happened to Harry! - are you?"  Hermione asked in her 'I'm disappointed in you' tone.

Ron grimaced; Harry had been holding Malfoy down as Hermione tried to calm down (or at least stupefy) the colt.  He had even managed to land one on the silver-haired prat.  _Just my luck Malfoy's hex lands on me and misses him completely._  Ron made up his mind to watch the Slytherin harder next time they fought - being able to cast hexes that quickly was just _not_ right.  _Didn't even see him go for his wand_.  __

   "Not really."  He finally said, "You don't need to worry about him either, Hermione - Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have let Professor Dumbledore take him out of the Infirmary if he wasn't okay."  He added reassuringly (_Blimey.  I'm starting to _sound_ like Percy!_), "Aren't these usually _your_ lines, Hermione?"

She flushed and smiled, "I guess.  Looks like you're growing up Ron."  She paused and added cheerfully, "Finally.  Be nice not to be the only sane one in our group."  She glanced at the door again then back at him.

   "Go."  Ron said tiredly, "Pomfrey probably want to give me some sort of sleeping potion any way.  You can bring me something from lunch - I heard it was going to be chicken pot pie."  He added as she gathered her bag (and the books that had spilled out of it.

The smile she threw over her shoulder was as familiar as Hermione herself - edged with exasperation, filled with humour and touched by worry.  He squirmed further back into the pillow, trying not to jar his arms and legs.  _That's what you get touching a bloody wanker like Draco Malfoy_.  He hissed back a grunt of pain - Madam Pomfrey had run out of Painless-Burn Elixir (stupid Pansy Parkinson) and the healing charms didn't work as well with burns unless the patient was asleep.  (Ron ignored the fact that he had insisted on being awake since Hermione had been visiting) He wished that Madam Pomfrey would hurry up with the sleeping drought.

    _Look at it this way, Ronnie,_  he thought vaguely as he closed his eyes, _At least she was here instead of with Harry._

    Seconds later, his eyes jerked open, _Why the hell am I thinking thoughts like _these_?!_

*

      "Albus."  Severus said shortly as the Headmaster held open the door to his office.

   "Severus,"  Albus paused, "A moment before we enter."

The door to the main office was firmly shut; Severus assumed both Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were trapped within.__

   "As you wish."  Severus said automatically; when Albus made a request, one did not refuse - besides, he wouldn't have to deal with Draco Malfoy's idiocy for a little while longer.

   "You have spoken to Minerva?"  

Severus snorted, "And discovered that Gryffindors with an intellectual kick have a propensity for unneeded verbosity."  At the Headmaster's patient silence he elaborated impatiently, "I have thus far read through sixteen of the twenty scrolls Minerva provided - and learned of four theories regarding the interpretation of Godric Gryffindor's choice of house colours and the legend of Salazar Slytherin's betrayal."

Albus nodded, "Ah.  Nothing of use then?"

Severus felt something akin to dismay slither down his back, "No.  Albus - what did Draco do?"

   "Young Malfoy's abilities are uncontrolled."  Albus said, "Thus far, two students have been placed in the Infirmary and the house elves report the damage to the rooms were almost impossible to repair."

   "Two students?"  Severus asked (_Damage to the rooms? _What_ rooms?_).

   "Miss Parkinson - who has barely escape without a permanent limp thanks in part to your potions and Poppy's abilities - and Ron Weasley."

Severus sneered, "One of your precious Gryffindors gets injured and the severity of the danger increases of course."  

Albus shook his head tiredly, "No more of this, Severus.  It would have been the same had one of your own been hurt -"

   "They are not _my_ own."  Severus hissed, "They are _yours_ as well, _Headmaster_ -"  he froze, realising his words and sighed, "My apologies - I spoke without thought."  

Albus shook his head, "No need for apologies - I worked too long and too hard to ensure you spoke freely with me if no other."  He said, "Lemon drop?"

Severus jerked, startled, and realised the man was holding out a small plate filled with confectionary.  _Where in Merlin's name did he pull _those _from_?

   "No thank you."  He said, forcing himself not to bite the words out, "What do you want me to do, Albus? On Draco Malfoy?"

Albus took a sweet and placed the plate on top a convenient side table - it vanished several seconds later.  _One day I'm going to have to ask him how he does that._  

   "Remus' report indicates an up surge of recruitment through the ranks of traditionally dark inclined creatures." 

Something akin to a cold shiver went down his spine, "The Dark Lord is recreating his power base."  

That had been the first sign - all those years ago.

   "All information points towards plans for an attack sometime during the winter solstice."  Albus said.

Severus frowned, "Christmas.  Narcissa's letter refers to that date as a cut-off point for any aid Draco can receive."  

_It is a Malfoy tradition to sacrifice the child to further the family._  Severus felt his blood chill.  Lucius Malfoy was proud of his sole son - too proud some would say.  Proud enough that Severus had used Draco's presence at Hogwarts as an early warning system for the safety of the other students.  Lucius would withdraw Draco from the school before any attack the Dark Lord planned that he was privy to could occur.  _Draco is the Malfoy heir._  There was a legend that blamed the lack of girls born to the Malfoy family on their traditional use as virgin tributes in times long past.  _Does it matter what Lucius feels for his only son? He has been Voldemort's since we were seventeen.  And we are nothing more than tools to use - and loose - for Voldemort._

    "Turning a child into a weapon."  Severus said quietly, "It is very much the way the Dark Lord's mind works." 

Albus' voice was grim, "With the public scrutiny on the Ministry, Hogwarts is the last bastion of public morale."  He said, "Hogwarts is looked upon as a place of safety - a remnant of times of peace.  A place where the children can learn safe from harm."  Severus refrained from mentioning the events of years passed as Albus continued, "The assumption we work beneath now is that Hogwarts will suffer an attack during the Christmas break."  The Headmaster placed a hand on the door knob leading to his inner office as he added, "You know what this means, Severus."

   "Yes."  _Less than four months to shove into their tiny brains everything they need to survive out there._  Less time for his Slytherins to keep what little innocents they had been allowed to keep.  "And the Order?"

   "We had hoped for more time - but such an early need was one of the scenarios developed.  We will work faster - the Order will be ready."  Albus paused, then added, "I entrust their lives to you, Severus."  With that, the older wizard opened the door and entered the office - leaving Severus standing alone.

    _Do not fail me as you failed your wife._  Narcissa's words.  _Do not fail them as you will Draco Malfoy._  But was this not a Slytherin trait? _We are the tacticians; the leaders - we are the ones who must see the future rather than the moment_.  Draco Malfoy in return for the future of his peers.  _The last Malfoy in return for Slytherin's future._

     There were times when he wished he had been sorted into Gryffindor.  Despite the appalling décor and abysmal lack of forethought or intelligence, it would have been - _nice_ - to rush headlong into acts of unnecessary danger without thought to the implications of his actions.  

    "_Some will die; some will survive_."  

    When Severus had first heard those words, the speaker's name had been Lord Voldemort - there had been no euphemisms, no fear.  He had been newly marked, watching in disdain as Lucius had barely survived the final test of allegiance to receive the dark mark.  

    .  .  .  _as you failed your wife.  .  ._

His peers had died that day - at the time, he had scorned their hidden weaknesses.  Only the strong survived within the ranks of the Death Eaters.  It had seemed right when Lord Voldemort had spoken - many things had, till one began to think for one's self.  

    _As you fail Draco Malfoy._  

   Severus' fingers found the roll of parchment in his pocket.  _Damned if I will agree with the Dark Lord._  With that, Severus swept through the door leading into Albus Dumbledore's inner office. 

*

      Draco stood amongst the other students in the Slytherin Common Room.

   "What did Dumbledore say?"  Pansy whispered quietly; they were waiting for Professor Snape to finish talking to the two seventh year prefects and give his yearly welcoming speech.

After four years, Draco could repeat most of the speech verbatim.  _Pride in purity.  Honour in winning.  Loyalty to our House._  He had heard variations from his father all his life - from half of the men in their social circle come to think of it.  _They repeat it as if we're going to forget it._  He stared down at the stone flagstones that made up the Slytherin Common Room floor.  _It's like declaring the sky is blue and expecting people to _care_ about something so obvious.  Of _course_ the sky is blue.  Of _course_ we should be proud we're pure-bloods.  Of _course_ we should be loyal to Slytherin.  And if there is no honour in winning then somebody's been talking to Hufflepuffs again_.

   "Draco?"  Pansy repeated; she had been released from the Infirmary earlier with a caution to return - every day - for a dose of Painless-Burn Elixir, "Draco?"

They were standing - the sixth and seventh years, by tradition, had first claim to any chairs when it came to Snape's-Yearly-Head-of-House-Drone.  This year, as fifth years, they had managed places near the back, as far from the three sniffling, weak-chinned first years as possible.  _Really - the Sorting Hat is growing senile in its decomposition.  The only reason those three got into Slytherin is because they're pure-blood.  And it's not so much pure as inbreed in their case._  Draco sneered inwardly.

   "Draco?"  Pansy tried again; she sighed and cautiously held out her hand - it hovered briefly over his shoulder; she winced as she lowered it till it was almost touching the thin summer-weight silk.

Draco flinched as the warmth from her body seeped through the material.  _Don't remember.  Don't even _think_ about remembering._  Not about Harry Potter.  Not about the Weasel and Granger.  Not about that blasted colt and the missing herd he was expected to help recover as his detention for 'attacking, mutilating and damaging a sentient creature'.

   "What did Dumbledore say?"  Pansy repeated patiently; Draco bristled at the careful exasperation in her tone.

They might have known each other most of their lives, but that gave her no right to act as if she knew him.  _Logic has no place in this!_ He wanted to laugh hysterically and find a wall to smash his head against.  _He didn't even wince.  Didn't do anything.  Just held me down - as if it was nothing.  As if it was nothing -!_

   "Draco?"  there was worry in Pansy's eyes; to others she might have seem only mildly interested, but he had spent a lifetime learning the same lessons.  _Emotions have no place in this._

He resented that worry - Malfoys _caused_ worry, they were not the victims of it.  

   "Dumbledore did his usual ineffectual best."  He said, voice flat and bored, "I have to help recover the entire herd for my detention."  

   "The entire herd?"  Pansy asked, frowning, "All of the pegasuses? From Care of Magical Creatures?"  her voice was incredulous, "But that will take you weeks!"

Draco rolled his eyes and turned away, an unspoken hint that Pansy silently interpreted.  

    She sighed inwardly as she let her hand drop.  She had grown up with Draco Malfoy - knew him as well as any girl could expect to, but she did not understand him.  _He's so - strange._  

    Pansy had learned the social graces by her mother's side.  She had learned how to brew simple cosmetic potions alongside cleaning elixirs, knew how to seat a hundred guests in order of lineage, titles, blood or political importance, and could produce small talk for any situation.  She understood people - how they thought, what motivated them - and occasionally she could even predict their actions.  She had never been able to predict Draco's behaviour however.  She flattered herself in thinking that she probably knew him better than anybody except perhaps his parents (Vincent and Greg didn't count though they had known him almost as long as she had - they didn't care enough to notice anything).  Draco was - unpredictable; he was a study in contrasts - calm and chaotic at the same time.  She had never been able to _understand_ his reasons for most of what he did - especially when it came to Potter and his mob of admirers.  

    _Today - _

    She had arrived in time to catch the tail end of the fight.  Even then she had been torn between laughter and horrified screams.  Draco Malfoy - who spent more time on his appearance (and managed it with flawless ease rather than painstaking patience as she did) then she did - rolling in the grass with Ron Weasley while behind them, the pegasuses herd screamed and scattered to the four corners of Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest.  There had been feathers everywhere.  The Ravenclaws had been complaining that five pegasuses had decided to make the roof of the Ravenclaw Tower their new home at dinner.

    Weasley had rolled away seconds after he had punched Draco's face - holding his hand and shouting.  She had seen the burns running down his arms and across his right leg with a shudder.  Draco had grinned as he half pulled himself off the ground, hair mussed and falling over one eye.  Which was when Harry Potter had punched him (luckily the Boy Who Lived punched like a Hufflepuff; Madam Pomfrey had healed the bruise with a wave of her wand).  The expression on Draco's face had shocked Pansy: there had been an absence of anger; as he had reeled back from Potter's fist, in his eyes, before they had become blank silver discs once more, she had seen _hunger_.  

*

      Hermione Granger was getting used to lying.  She had spent most of the summer lying to two of her best friends.  All of the trip on the train had been spent recounting exciting scholastic adventures in an obscure and provincial village in the mundane depths of Scotland.  A village that did not exist on a trip she hadn't gone on - but that did not matter because most of her summer had been spent in an unplottable manor with twenty nine other students.  

    _I never thought it would be so - _easy_._  She had thought that Ron and Harry would realise immediately that she was lying; surely her acting abilities were not so great! But they hadn't.  In a way, she was glad.  

   "You all right, Hermione?"  Dean asked, appearing at her side as he stepped through the enchanted doorway that led up into the disused tower.  

   "Yes."  Hermione said distractedly, "Why do you ask?"  

They made their way silently and quickly down the corridor.  Dean's silver prefect's badge glinted in the light of the torches that lined the walls.  Early in the summer classes, Hermione had asked Professor McGonnagal not to make her a Prefect - perhaps it had been pride that had made her predict she would have been asked to be one.  Dean hadn't said anything when he had received his letter on the first of August complete with badge.  _It would have been too dangerous - too predictable - if I was a Prefect.  Prestige and pride have no place in this war.  Not if we want to win._  Especially now.  She swallowed.

   "The others are scared."  Dean remarked.

He had grown during the summer - not as tall as Ron, but close.  She wondered when his voice had broken - it had not been so deep during the summer, and yet now it was.  

   "We're all scared."  Hermione said since it seemed as if the boy expected a response, "We're in a war after all.  It isn't school any more."  
   "You didn't seem scared - you were really calm."  Dean's voice broke; Hermione jumped and then glanced at him in surprise, he flushed, "They asked me to talk to you."  He admitted, "Since I'm the closest to you -"

   "Closest?"

   "Friends with Harry and Ron."  Dean said, "Martha from Ravenclaw thought maybe you'd break into hysterics if you didn't vent."  He added.

The muggle pop psycho-babble was odd when pronounced in a medieval corridor lit by flaring torches.  Hermione managed a tight-lipped grin, "I'm not going to have hysterics."  As if _she_ would ever have hysterics.

Hysterics were for - girls.  Who wore pink.  And slept with their stuffed toys.  And played with make-up and nail polish.  And giggled and talked about boys all the time.  Girls who worried about their hair.  _Girls like Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson._  Girls who could afford to be fifteen years old.

   "Do you want to - talk about it at least?"  Dean asked; he looked a little wild around the eyes - Hermione curtailed a giggle as she realised he was completely out of his depth.

   "No."  at Dean's half-uttered reproach, she sighed, "I - am not all right, Dean."  She said, "We just spent the past five hours in a classroom preparing for the Hogwarts Apocalypse.  Nobody is going to be all right in that situation.  Especially when we had already spent the same five hours going to all our other classes - and Care of Magical Creatures was as bad a start to the term as you can create.  There's no way in _hell_ I'm all right."

   "Oh."  Dean fidgeted; Hermione realised they had come to an almost complete halt in the middle of the corridor.

_I am _not _having hysterics._

   "But we can't _afford_ to have me break down.  So I'm not going to."  Hermione finished tightly, "None of us can break down.  There's no more _time._"  Less than four months.  _Four months_! They had expected years.  At least two more - long enough to reach seventh year at least.  _Oh god._

   _I am not going to break down.  I'm _not_._

   "Well -"  Dean stared down at the ground, then up again, "Do you mind if occasionally -"  he paused, flushed a deep red, and then whispered, "The rest of us did?"

Hermione blinked, "Oh."  Then smiled, "Sure."  She said, "Any time you want - we can - there's some rooms in the back of the library we can - and talk."  She trailed off and Dean went bright red.

   "It's just - it's _more_ than I expected."  He whispered, "And it's so -"

   "Soon."  Hermione said.

They continued walking; there was no time for anything else.  No time at all.

=====================================================================

**Deso **- sorry about the chapters lenght.  But would you prefer it if I wrote more and posted less? ^_^ 

**Demeter **- All I can say is: "0_0 I'm a fan of your work from the SSFF".  ^_^ Thanks for reviewing.  And - well, even before I started reading HP fanfics, I found JKR's treatment of the Slytherins intriquing.  Her style is such that I cannot imagine her giving her readers irrivocably evil children to hate.

On a seperate note: anybody here read Sluggy Freelance? The Harry Potter rip was hilarious - and yet, the final words (as of Tuesday, 24th, September) by the Albus Dumbledore parody was strangely apt.  "The hardest thing about winning is trying to do so without loosing something of greater importance."  Brings to mine a quote from Steven Sondheim's "Into the Woods": "To get what you want better keep what you have."  

**Kandra **- sorry about the missing Potter-Malfoy encounter.  Look out for Chapter Sixteen when I start hitting the edges of my PG-13 rating.  ^_^

**Nightwing**,** AshFarley**,** Mistykasumi **- hiya! Yes, Draco is splintering isn't he? 

**KDay2 **- Thanks - and the winding gets worse.  Four months before Christmas.  ^_^

**BlueVanilla **- I did consider 'pegasi' but the knowledge to change pegasuses to pegasi seemed something far too intellectually derived for Ron to pull out of mid-air.  Still, you're right - it would have been funnier.  ^_^ Meanwhile - I cannot wait to see who they choose as an actor for Bill and Charlie Weasley in the movies.  And Percy wasn't that bad either.  ~cough cough~

Yes, Hermione is wrong.  Pansy Parkinson is no more a fifteen year old than Hermione is herself.  Of course, tell that to them.  ^_^

Meanwhile - on yet another seperate note: am always looking for more beta readers.  ^_^****

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

**- edited 24th September, 2002 for various formating and sentence structure problems**


	16. An Author's Note

Author's Note

Apologies for the lack of chapter, but I received a review from **Oando** that confused me.  **Oando** mentioned that it felt as if the chapters were in the wrong order, with a disjointed story of sorts.  

I knew that the mysterious plot was a little heavy handed, but I didn't realise it was confusing.  Besides of which, **Oando** mentioned howlers in Chapter One (to which I went '0_o; _What_ howlers in Chapter One?' ^_^).

So I went back and checked - and realised that somehow, in between the chapters being uploaded and **Oando**'s review, the chapters had been re-ordered.  Chapter Eight ended up as the Prologue, and so on and so forth down the track.

So **Oando** - you were right, the chapters are in the wrong order.  ^_^ Thank you for pointing this out to me, I would never have realised since I don't re-read chapters on fanfiction.net.

In any case, the chapter order should be fixed just as soon as fanfiction.net's update facilities refresh.  If it doesn't, here is the order of chapter titles.

**Prologue**: Omega

**Chapter One**: Darkness

**Chapter Two**: Why I Froze

**Chapter Three**: The Boy Who Cannot Die

**Chapter Four**: letters and Curses

**Chapter Five**: Gits and Mudbloods

**Chapter Six**: The Boy Who Saved the Day

**Chapter Seven**: Two Dreams and a Cliche

**Chapter Eight**: Summer's End

**Chapter Nine**: So Comes the Rain

**Chapter Ten**: Platform Nine and Three Quarters

**Chapter Eleven**: Sumptus Per Redemptio (The Price of Redemption)

**Chapter Twelve**: Blood and Survival

**Chapter Thirteen**: The Plural of Pegasus

**Chapter Fourteen**: Time

My sincere apologies - and thank you once more **Oando**.  

Yours,

Tien Riu

PS - _Omega _is the last character in the Latin alphabet and is generally used to indicate 'the end'.  The **Prologue**, being labelled '_Omega_' is in effect stating that the **Prologue **happens at the very end of the story.  And if that isn't confusing I'm not sure what is.  ^_-


	17. Breakfast and Maybe a Wet Dream

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**Author's Note**: Out early as I wanted to release the last of "_Histrionic Henchman in a Bedroll_" (chapter sixteen of "**Lust**") on my 21st (gosh I feel old) this Sunday but wanted at the same time to do something for "**Without Question**" on that day too.  So - here is Chapter Fifteen.  ^_^ For those of you who are interested, you'll be glad to know that the next Harry and Draco 'is this a moment' moment happens in this chapter.  Enjoy!

Also - [embarrased] as **Blue** pointed out, _omega_ is the last letter in the _Greek_ alphabet and _not_ the Latin one.  [coughs] Sorry!  

Reviews greatly appreciated, specifically on Draco, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Dean (especially Dean as my handle on his character is the most shaky) characterisation.  

Reply to reviews and author's note after chapter.

=====================================================================

**Chapter Fifteen**: Breakfast and (Maybe) a Wet Dream

The Slytherin Common Room emptied rapidly, leaving only the first years for Professor Snape's personal lecture on 'House Pride'.  (He wondered if it was the same one he had heard in first year)  Draco remained - Professor Snape would want to see him, and although Malfoys never waited, he felt intelligence dictated he not force his Head of House to follow him back to the fifth year dorms.  Especially considering the state he, Greg and Blaise had left them that morning.  

    The three first years were standing by the fire, listening with rapt eyes to the potions master as he spoke quietly to them.  Draco scoffed at the idealistic expressions shining from their eyes.  _I give them two weeks - if they don't get that there's no such thing as a fair chance for Slytherins at Hogwarts by that stage, they deserve everything the seventh years do to them for loosing house points._  Only the daft or the dead remained naïve and idealistic in the Slytherin dungeons.  He wondered how many second years there would be in the following year.  _If there is a second year for those idiots._  _It's no wonder the Dark Lord is holding off his attack on Hogwarts long enough to recruit if these are the sort of wizards we're getting in Slytherin._  The thought was disloyal to Slytherin House of course - but he no longer cared.  It was not his task, after all, to help maintain the façade of solidarity.  

    _Not my task._  His was to remain silent and hidden - to wait.  _To be wielded - or be kept safe.  Or simply to be forgotten._  But that was ridiculous - Malfoys were too important to be forgotten.  _Except for me evidently._

    He rubbed his face imagining he could still feel the faint throb of pain.  Good thing Potter was the Boy Who Fought Like A Girl.  _Well, any girl except for that mudblood Granger_.  Not that she counted as a girl.  He sneered mentally and reminded himself to slip the insult into the next argument he had with Potter and the hapless cohorts.  

    He pressed his fingers against his cheekbone; perhaps it was because nobody had touched him since the Hogwarts Express, but he could still feel Potter's fist as it slid across his face.  .  .

    Still feel the warmth radiating from the other's body as he was pinned to the ground by the foreign weight.  .  .

     _Unable to move._  .  .

    He had looked up and seen the fist - _Didn't move._  

    Draco stiffened.  _Why didn't I move?_

    Weasley had been rolling in pain on the ground while Granger threw dubious binding charms over the screaming colt.  In the background, he remembered the half-giant swearing and holding onto the pegasus stallion as it reared; there had been feathers drifting to the ground as the herd took to the skies.  _Potter hit me from behind; I rolled - he was on top -_

    _Hang on - attacking without notice.  Hah! Some Gryffindor._  Draco thought, sneering - and rubbed at his cheek again.  _Pomfrey must be loosing her touch if I can still feel Potter's work._  His hand stilled, still pressed against the skin.  _Why wasn't he affected?_

    The Weasel had barely touched him before he was on the ground in pain.  The colt's wings had burst into flame.  The grass had scorched - though given the untended nature of the lawns, he doubted anybody would notice.  He _knew _the curse effected every one who came close enough to touch him.  _So why not Potter?_

    The first time - on the train - could be explained away; after all, nothing had happened till he had got back to Pansy and Greg.  But this time - _Everything was burning.  So why not him?_

    Potter was no more special than any of the other students, but for his luck, he would be as mediocre in everything as Weasley.  _So why?_

    Surely there was no _real _truth in the whole 'Boy Who Lived' nonsense.

    Because if there was - then.  .  .  _Then Potter can touch me without getting burnt.  .  .  _

_    Stupid curse.  Can't even choose the right ones to burn._

"Draco."

The Common Room was empty; Draco swallowed mentally as he met the eyes of his Head of House, "Good evening, sir."  He said evenly.

Severus nodded towards the flight of stairs that led to his private office, "Follow me."

   "Yes, sir."  Draco sighed; he had been lectured by Snape more in the last day and a half than he had in the past year and a half.  _Well, on average anyway._  

*

      Hermione was greeted by whispers when she arrived at the breakfast table the next morning.  Having roomed with Lavender and Parvati for four years her only reaction was an inward sigh and a brief moment of justifiable paranoia.  She calmly glanced up and down the Gryffindor table - noting that Parvati was giggling - and swallowed the urge to groan in disgust.  Gossip, it seemed, had made its familiar appearance amongst the female members of Gryffindor House - and once more, Hermione was an item of interest.  She wondered what it was this year.  

    _No I don't.  With Lavender and Parvati interested it can only be one thing: boys.  The question is _who_._  She reached for some toast, firmly ignoring the whispers as she thought quickly.  _Can't be about Ron - especially since he's still in the Infirmary._

   "I just can't believe it - I mean I always thought -"  Parvati's voice rose and fell out of the audible range, " - Harry -"

_Oh no, not Harry and me - _again_!_ Hermione groaned inwardly as she glanced back towards the entrance.  Sure enough, Harry - looking half asleep - was entering behind Dean, Seamus and Neville.  _Great.  Next thing, I'll be receiving howlers from total strangers - again._  

     She glanced down at the food before her and felt her stomach clench in nausea-induced dislike.  _So much for breakfast._  Not that she would have had much time to eat anyway - not after the owl's message.

    "Morning Hermione."  Dean called cheerfully, sliding into a seat opposite her's at the table.

Parvati burst into giggles and leaned over to whisper into Lavender's ears.  

   "Morning Dean."  Hermione said, ignoring Parvati, "Have you finished the reading for class?"  she continued as Lavender joined Parvati's peal of snickering.  _Honestly - it's a wonder Lavender ended up as Prefect._  She thought in exasperation as the girl nearly fell off the bench.

Dean made a face, "Which class?"  he stood to pour pumpkin juice into his goblet, "Juice?"  he offered.

She shook her head; Parvati was whispering again, this time to a fourth year girl Hermione couldn't quite put a name to, "No thanks."

He sat, "I swear, the teachers must think we have nothing more to do than homework.  Even Sprout assigned chapters!"  he rolled his eyes, Lavender _had_ fallen off the bench - Neville helped her up with a confused expression.

   "The reading for 'Muggles in the Magical World'."  Hermione said, "We have it again today.  Remember?"

'Muggles in the Magical World' was a new class - open only to a select few of the students.  Or at least that was the tale they had been told to tell.  Hermione stopped herself from reaching to up to touch the time turner, tucked beneath the clothes she was wearing under her robes.  

Dean paused, eyes going wide though his voice was calm, "Oh - that reading.  Yeah.  Took me ages though - at least an hour."  He said.

   "Really?"  Hermione feigned an expression of shock, "It took me two."  

   "Two?"  Dean asked, "I must have missed something -"

   "Well, if you want, I can show you my notes."  Hermione offered smoothly.

Dean nodded, and stood - breakfast untouched, "How about now? I can do anything I've missed during lunch then without bothering you.  I'm sure you'll be wanting to visit Ron in the Infirmary."  He added.

Hermione nodded, rising - and frowning as Lavender and Parvati stared, wide eyed at her, "Sure.  Come on, we can talk about it on the way to Potions."  She said, pausing to smile at Harry who was sleepily stirring salt into his porridge, "Morning Harry."

   "Morning Hermio'e."  Harry mumbled, his eyes half closed, "Where you going?"

   "Leaving early for Potions.  I'll see you there."  Hermione called over her shoulder as she left.

Harry blinked as he took in what Hermione had said.  _What the -?_ He dropped his spoon, calling: "Wait up, I'll go with - "  and realised Hermione had already left the Great Hall with Dean.

   "Don't go, Harry!"  Lavender blurted out from down the table.

   "Huh?"  Harry paused, already half standing, "Why not?"

Lavender rolled her eyes, "Mum said you boys take longer to grow up but this is ridiculous!"

   "What?"

   "Can't you tell? Hermione and Dean want some -"  Lavender glanced at Parvati and the two burst into giggles again, " - _privacy_."

   "Privacy?"  Harry parroted, "Why would they want privacy -"  he went red, "I thought Hermione and Ron were -"  he trailed off, went a brighter shade of red and sat back down, confused.

Parvati leaned over to pat him on the shoulder, "Don't worry Harry - the rest of us are just as shocked."  She said sympathetically, "We thought Dean would end up with Seamus."

Harry, who had just been about to half-heartedly swallow some porridge, coughed, "_Seamus_?!"

Across the table, Seamus - who had been eating his way calmly through a stack of pancakes - looked up, "Yes?"

Parvati fell off the bench again.

*

      _He was on the train again; darting out of the carriage away from Greg's stumbling explanation of Vincent's absence.  _

Malfoys do not run.

_    The admonition - expressed throughout his childhood but never spoken - echoed.  He glanced at the windows, expecting the glass to shatter, so loud did the words sound.  The rain fell, obscuring the platform.  He could see his reflection in the glass - skin untouched by the summer sun, and hair so pale as to be white.  _Father.__

_    He resembled his father - had all his life.  Before his eyes the reflection changed - lengthening, thickening, aging - till Lucius Malfoy stared back at him from the Hogwarts Express window.  _Father.__

_    And suddenly he was running - not knowing why, just.  .  .  Running._

_      He knew what came - this was a dream; this was the past.  He stumbled; _Malfoys are always composed._  And fell - tumbling - into warmth -_

Not this again -!_ Once had been enough humiliation; _This is a dream.  And I'm going to wake up now -__

_      The ground gave beneath his back; _Grass.

    On the train? I know Hogwarts' standards have gone downhill but really - this is ridiculous -__

_   And his vision obscured by tendrils of hair in his eyes; then - _Potter.__

_    Something warm against his hand.  The tickle of breath against his skin.  And the thought - the memory of the thought - forbidden, forgotten till this instance: _Touch me.  Touch me - please - somebody touch me._  Malfoys did not plead._

_    He shook hair from his eyes - and found himself in the fields outside the half-giant's hut.  _Oh no - not this -!__

_    The pegasus colt was screaming in pain, its shrill, too-human shrieks echoed by the Weasel's cursing in the background.  Sound overwhelmed him after the silence: Hagrid's roar at the shocked students to run back from the castle, the thunderous clap as twenty pegasuses lifted from the ground - _

_- and Potter.  Knees trapping his arms to his side; so close he could feel the other's warmth seeping through the thin silk of his summer robes - _

_      He knew what would happen next - the sudden shock of flesh against flesh, the flare of pain.  The anger that would take away the strange sensation of intimacy - _

_      Silence._

      _"You want me to hit you - don't you?"  Potter sounded as he had the day he had demanded Longbottom's rememberall be returned._

_He looked up - and could only see green.  Green eyes.  The story was that Potter had his mother's green eyes._

_   "You want me to smash my fist into your face - to hit you until you're bleeding.  Bruised.  Hurting."  And his voice changed; deepened - became - intimidating._

_Frightening.  _Malfoys are never frightened - they are the source of fear._  But he was on his back, and Potter - the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Had Defeated the Dark Lord - was staring down at him.  _

This is a dream.  This did not happen.__

_   "You want it - you want this."  Potter whispered, leaning down till his vision was curtailed by flickers of black._

_The world had vanished -_

_    "Why - _Draco_?"  Potter's voice, "Why do you want this?"_

_ - there was only Potter, leaning on him, pressed against him - _

_   "Why don't you make me stop?"  a hiss - a whisper, he was not scared - he was - _

      Draco jerked upright, chest heaving.  The room was empty, silent but for the sound of his harsh panting.  _Merlin._  

    The silence hurt his ears - he had gotten used (it had only been one night - how had he gotten used to it so soon?) to Greg's snoring and Blaise's snuffling.  An outstretched hand grasped his wand; his fingers slipped down the smooth wood.  _Will this burn if I hold it too long?_

   "_Lumos._" 

The pale light cast shadows against the stone walls; the room was smaller than his wardrobe at Malfoy Manor.  He took in the bare stone walls and floors - except for his trunk and bed.  _Empty._  

    He found his eyes searching for a sign of silver and green; disorientating to discover only grey and black.  _At least it isn't cold._  The light reflecting from his wand caught the pale patches on the wall where the tapestries had once hung, the lighter shade of grey on the floor marking the boundaries of the rug.  _I should re-decorate in Malfoy colours.  They can call it the Chamber of Draco Malfoy - something to put into '_Hogwarts, a History_'._  _Mark my territory here in the Slytherin dungeons._  Draco grinned.

    _Just like a dog._  He grimaced; whatever slant he wanted to put on what had happened, the humiliation was clear.  Even remembering made him flinch.  

_Professor Snape had barely glared at Draco on discovering the ruins of the fifth year dorm room.  _

_The older wizard was rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache as he spoke, "Goyle.  Zabini.  You will room with the first year boys until -"  he gestured sharply at the crumbling ruins of the fifth year dorm room, " - this is fixed.  Go."  _

_   "Sir."  The two boys had echoed together before scurrying away; leaving Draco standing alone - wishing he was anywhere else._

_Snape remained silent for a long time before he shook his head and gestured for Draco to follow him out and up a flight of stairs to another door._

_   "Had you been a prefect in your seventh year, you would have been assigned one of these rooms."  Snape said quietly as he opened the door._

_The lamps and fire burst to life automatically as Snape entered, as did the fire.  There was a familiar silver and green tapestry hanging above the fireplace, and a dark green rug.  _This isn't too bad._  Maybe there were some parts of the curse that were enjoyable.  Draco stopped himself from grinning - privacy was a valuable commodity.  Especially during exams._

_    Snape turned away from Draco, pulled out his wand and began stripping the walls of the tapestries and other ornamentation.  Draco watched in shocked silence as the large forest-green rug on the floor rolled itself up and floated out the door._

_   "Sir?"  _

_   "Too flammable."  Snape said in a flat voice, "If you have any personal items suitable for wall hangings, see me tomorrow and I will cast anti-incendiary charms for you.  Get your trunk, I will recast the charm on it after I have protected the bed."_

_Draco had tried for sullen - it did not do for a Malfoy to sleep in a room that resembled a cell after all - but only achieved obedience.  _

"_Nox_."  Draco whispered; the darkness that followed was all-encompassing, hiding the cell - and without that distraction, the dream returned.  _What in Merlin's name _was_ that?_

    He slowly lay back down onto the bed.  _Potty Potter's insanity must be contagious - as if any normal person would want to get beaten up._  The blankets were heavy and he drifted back to sleep.

*

      "What happened?"  Dean asked, rather breathlessly, as he and Hermione hurried to the foot of the last flight of stairs, "Why do they want us - for two hours -"  he paused and added, as they started up the stairs , "Before breakfast?"  the last in a whimper of realisation.

   "I don't know.  The owl didn't say much more than this."  Hermione made a face, "It did wake Lavender and Parvati up however.  I don't want to know what they thought."  

They grabbed at the banisters as the stone stairs groaned and began to shift.  They waited till the stone shuddered beneath their fingertips - long practise (it was only the second day of school - why was it so familiar already?) warning that running up the last few steps before then would lead to stumbled grasps and parchment floating down over the edge and past the flights of stairs criss-crossing the air below.

   "Do you think there'll be food up there?"  Dean asked plaintively.

   "Probably - Professor Dumbledore never forgets things like that."  Hermione said, "I just wish I knew what they want us to do."  She paused, then whispered, "It's just - everything they're teaching us.  .  .  It seems so useless."  They reached the top of the stairs, and stood there, briefly to catch their breath, both already reaching beneath their robes for the gold time turners, "It shouldn't be _us_ learning half these things."  Hermione said, "It should be _everybody _- _they _don't know how to survive out there.  All of them - except maybe some like Seamus and Harry.  They don't know what it's like out there, with the muggles.  They won't know _anything_ - but _we're_ the ones frantically preparing.  Wasting all this time playing James Bond with knowledge like we're special secret agents or -"

   "Hermione!"

Hermione blinked and stared at Dean, "What?"

   "You're babbling."  Dean said, grinning.

Hermione glared, "No I'm not -"  she said heatedly then paused, "I am aren't I?"

   "Only took you two and a half months."  Dean said, "We took bets.  Some lucky Ravenclaw is probably twelve galleons richer."  

   "Ravenclaw?"

   "Colin Creevey held out the longest - he said you'd break before school started again."

   "Well."  Hermione paused, then added disgustedly, "_Really._  Beaten by Ravenclaws - in _betting_.  Honestly Dean - has four years with Fred and George taught you _nothing_?"

Dean laughed, and they flipped the time turners together.

*

_      He was in the train.  On Potter.  Hand pressed up between the other boy's legs._

_   He knew what would follow - this was another dream; Potter would yell at him, he would yell back - and then Pansy would be burned and -_

_    Fingers, gently brushing against his face, "You want this because it's the only way left."_

_   "_What_?"  he gathered breath to blast Potter with satirical anger and the world blurred._

_He was staring up at green eyes - listening to Weasley's shouts of pain and the screaming colt._

_    Potter reaching to hit him; he braced himself -_

_      The train; wood against his back - and Potter's hands between his legs._

_   "Will you ask me to get off you?"  the whisper, a brush of hair against his forehead, "Will you ask me to stay?" breath that tickled his ear, the hand shifted -  "What do you want, Draco?"  _

      Draco's eyes opened as he stared at the top of his bed in shock.  _What - what was that?_

    He realised something else as he lay there, staring blindly up into the darkness.  _No - no - no - that's just _wrong _- !_

    Gingerly, Draco Malfoy reached down under the blankets - between his legs.  _Morgen-cursed_.  He was _hard_.  _Curse.  Definitely the curse._

_    Merlin - _please_ let it be some strange side-effect of the curse._

    "Draco!"

The sound of Greg's voice made him jerk his hand away even as he cursed.

   "What?"

   "We're late for breakfast!"

He sat up; the windowless room had turned his internal timepiece upside down.  _Bloody freaking Merlin's-nuts-on-a-sword hell._

   "Draco?"

He sighed, "_Lumos_!"  the flare of light hurt his eyes.

   "You all right in there, Draco?"  this in the softer tones that marked Blaise's voice.

   "Yes.  I'm fine."  Draco snarled.

   "You want us to wait for you?"  Greg - sounding impatient, probably worrying about missing out on breakfast.

Draco stared down at his lap and shuddered, "No.  I'm not hungry."  He called back.  _At least the bathrooms will be empty by now._  

*

      "Hey Ron."

Ron rolled out of sleep, "Harry."  He greeted as he glanced quickly down at his arms and sighed in relief, "Got to give that greasy git a hand - at least his potions work quickly."  The black and red flash of burned flesh that had stretched down one arm and leg was completely gone - although the skin was a fresh pink.  Ron scratched at his arm idly as he blinked up at his friend.

   "Yeah."  Harry said; the other boy remained silent for several seconds before speaking again, "I didn't have any chocolate frogs - the twins offered but I figured it'd be a bad idea to eat anything they're willing to sell."  

Ron nodded in quick (and glad) agreement, "Make's a change, doesn't it?"  he laughed as he shoved back the blankets and sat up, "Usually it's me and Hermione visiting you here."  Ron paused, glancing around, "Where's Hermione?"  he paused, "Hey - did you bring me anything from breakfast? Is Hermione still eating?"

Harry went bright red, "Ah -"  and stopped; Ron stared, "She left for potions early."  Harry said finally.

   "Oh."  Ron frowned - slightly hurt, "I guess I'll see her at lunch - or maybe Madam Pomfrey will let me out in time for dinner -"

   "With Dean."  Harry added quietly.

Ron frowned, "Oh - why'd she do that -"  and jerked forward as realisation struck, "_What_?! That's just plain _wrong_!"  

Harry flinched as Madam Pomfrey came running out of her office, attracted by the shouting, "What_ is_ the matter here?"  she demanded, hands on her hips as she glared at Harry, "Really, Harry - you should know better."  She admonished, "And Mr Weasley - this is an Infirmary not a -"

Ron however ignored Madam Pomfrey as he continued, "I mean, you - I can understand - but _Dean_? When did Hermione start liking _Dean_?!"  he demanded before suddenly stopping, "Hold on - did I just say that?"  he blinked, and collapsed back onto the bed, pulling the pillow over his head, "Merlin."

Harry stared blankly at the pillow now covering the head of his best friend.  Madam Pomfrey, after a brief confused expression, chuckled and walked back to her office, shaking her head, "Teenagers -!"  she laughed and closed the door.

   "Ron?"  Harry finally managed.

   "What?"  Ron demanded, voice muffled.

   "Does this mean you're asking Hermione out - or beating Dean up?"  Harry asked as he began to grin; the pillow caught him upside the head with a rather satisfying '_thump_'. 

*

      Severus Snape was eating breakfast and reading Granger's scroll - wondering how many points he could deduct for uninspired repetition - when he found what he was looking for.

   "Figures."  He muttered, "It would have to be the Gryffindor Swot."  When Minerva found out she would expect him to encourage the girl's attempts at literature with house points, "Bloody hell."

On his right, Sinistra looked up in surprise, "Is everything all right, Severus?"

Severus clenched his fist around the scroll as he glanced across the Great Hall, "Where is Hermione Granger?"

Sinistra, frowning in surprise, turned to look at the Gryffindor table, "It is not like Miss Granger to miss breakfast."  She said, then nodded, "Ah - I believe she and Mr Thomas have left for -"  she paused, and lowered her voice, "An early class."

Severus cursed mentally and stalked out of the Great Hall.  It would have to be after the Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth year potions class then.  

   "Whatever is the matter with him now?"  Xiomara Hooch asked out loud.

Sinistra shrugged, "With Severus - it could be anything."  She said, then grinned, "Remember two years ago when he was so regular it was almost like - a time of month?"

Albus Dumbledore looked down the table in confusion as Sinistra, Xiomara and Minerva all burst into laughter.

=====================================================================****

**Author's Note**: For those of you who are interested, _Morgen_ was a druidic goddess from Welsh Celtic mythology.  Morgen was believed to have powers of flight (through artificial wings), shapeshifting and great powers of healing.  By saying '_Morgen-curse_', Draco is implying that he has been cursed by a goddess of healing (ie. that he cannot be healed, or that because he causes physical harm to those around him, Morgen has turned from him, or has cursed him to suffer).  For those who are _really_ interested, Morgen was usually associated with Modron (a mother-goddess) and believed to be the original version of Morgan le Fay (of '_Morte D'Arthur_' and '_The Sword in the Stone_' fame). 

Now, on to answers to the reviews.  ^_^ 

**AshFarley **- this means of course that Chapter Sixteen will be almost completely about plot (plot plot plot).  So I guess you'll get to decorate your skyscraper then.  ^_^  

**Blue **- 0_0 Oh wow.  .  .  I fell in love with "**Just This?**" (in fact it was one of the first H/D stories I ever read).  Thank you for reviewing - and when will the last chapter of "**Just This?**" be out? ~grins~

**Candledot, Adrithor, Mystic Sorcerer **and **MistyKasumi**: thank you for reviewing - specifically: **Candledot **- you might be surprised; **MistyKasumi **- hope the wait was worth it; and **Adrithor** - the chapters should be up but I'm working on finding a site to store my stories on so that this isn't such a problem.  ^_^

**Oando **- thanks once more for pointing out the problem with the chapters (embarrased).****

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

**- edited 28th September for various formating, story and plot-related errors**


	18. Shading between the Lines Conversations

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

Reviews greatly appreciated, specifically on characterisation.  The more I deal with non-main characters from the books, the more likely it is that I end up verging towards out-of-characterisation problems.  So early warnings might be nice.  ^_^

Reply to reviews and author's note after chapter.

=====================================================================

**Chapter Sixteen**: Shading between the Lines / Conversations

      Two hours prior to Hermione Granger and Dean Thomas' rumour-creating departure from breakfast - and Harry Potter's recital to one Ron Weasley of said rumour, Sibyll Trelawney met Albus Dumbledore in the Headmaster's Office.  The conversation that took place would likely have alarmed Hermione - had she been, at that stage, awake.

    "But Albus -"  Sibyll Trelawney was saying in her habitual drifting, light voice, "You know very well that my inner eye will be clouded if I involve myself with the world at large."  She paused, large watery eyes blinking behind her glasses.

Albus steepled his hands on the table, staring thoughtfully at the Divinations Professor - who, unlike so many others met with just such a gaze, did not squirm or shift.  It was a little known fact that Sibyll Trelawney had been sorted into Slytherin House when she had first entered Hogwarts, twenty-five years ago.  Had there been any witnesses, they would not have questioned that fact - very few were innocent, hapless or strong enough to meet Albus Dumbledore's 'request' (Severus Snape, who made a habit of being absolutely truthful to himself, correctly re-labelled them as 'orders' in his mental catalogue) with a refusal.  Albus Dumbledore was not, after all , the only wizard Lord Voldemort feared because of his decidedly plebeian and eccentric (if not insane) taste in confectionary and attire.

   "Sibyll,"  Albus said finally, voice gentle, "It is time to stop pretending."

Sibyll shifted then, and when she spoke - though it was barely perceivable - her voice was slightly higher, "Whatever do you mean Albus - pretending at _what _-"

   "Sibyll."  The Headmaster shook his head, "You have never been a _good_ Seer -"

Sibyll stiffened, "Why I -!"  she started and was halted by one raised hand from the older wizard.

   "Many can see the future - brief flashes of insight, visions of what to come.  There are many Seers - a small talent for Divinations is one of the most common amongst the magically inclined."  Albus said, "I believe those words were part of the first lecture old Professor Kinth gave to any student taking their first Divinations class."  He looked at Sibyll, waiting patiently, "A good man, Kinth - your mentor.  He was very proud of you Sibyll."

The witch's shoulders slumped, "I can't do this again, Albus."  She said finally, "My inner eye _likes_ being un-misted by the events of the world."  

   "Inasmuch as I would hope that Hogwarts remains a sanctuary for all who need it,"  Albus said, not ungently, "I would hope that it was never used as a place to hide."  

Sibyll flinched, "I -"

   "To heal - certainly.  But not to hide."  He paused, "I need you to teach them, Sibyll."  

In any other, perhaps there might have been a sign of defeat; the Divinations Professor however merely took the scroll waiting on the table before her.  With be-ringed fingers, Sibyll Trelawney unrolled it and took in the contents with a speed that marked her as a teacher well versed in marking homework.  She paused, frowning, "Albus - surely you cannot think to have me teach that - that -"  she trailed off.

Albus sighed; Hermione Granger's enmity for Sibyll Trelawney and Divinations had been a source for much humour in the Staff Lounge two years ago.  It was still brought up occasionally.  Occasionally, Albus felt as if he was surrounded by children - children of varying ages of course, but children none the less. 

    "Hermione Granger is a very talented young witch.  She is also one of young Harry's closest friends.  In a battle of minds and thoughts, the banner that bears the greatest hope wins the field.  Miss Granger shall be the very last possible protection we can give Harry."  Albus reminded Sibyll quietly, "If any can teach her the strength hidden in Divinations, it is you, Sibyll."

   "I can't teach her! She does not understand Divinations!"  Sibyll protested, "In fact, she _refuses_ to understand even the most basic of the skills required!"

   "Then you will have to _make _her learn."  Albus said, then added - experienced as he was with Severus' methods, "In such a way that she does not practise the irrationality all youthful witches and wizards are famed for exercising at inopportunate moments."

Sibyll looked vaguely disappointed at the parameters of the task as she left, scroll tucked beneath one of the wispy shawls she bedecked her thin frame with. 

    Albus was merely glad he had managed to convince the reclusive Sibyll Trelawney to leave her tower and rejoin the world.  _There are only two remaining alive who remember precisely what you accomplished for our world in the last war, Sibyll._  Albus thought as he rang a small silver bell seated on his desk.  _Unfortunately, I am one and you are the other.  Otherwise, you would have been forced to leave your tower - if only to silence the acclaim - much sooner than this._  There was a brief implosion of sound as a House Elf appeared.      

    "You be wanting something, Headmaster?"  the House Elf asked.

Used to even this magical (and rare as House Elves rarely allowed themselves to be seen outside of their domains) occurrence, Albus gestured to the pile of letters waiting on a side table, "Please have the school owls send these to the appropriate students, Melly."

The House Elf nodded, "Melly make sure letters sent, sir."  
And then, there was silence once more.  Albus looked up at the portraits of past Headmasters - all bearing worried expressions.

   "'_- into the darkness we hide - to conceal the flame that shall chase the night -_'."  He murmured, "Inspiration born from the lips of a madman to be fostered and carried on the shoulders of children.  Tell me that I am not making a mistake."  

The past Headmasters however did not answer.  

*

      Hermione Granger, fifth year student at Hogwarts, School of Wizardry and Witchcraft - not to mention a member of the Order of the Phoenix - was part of two memorable conversations that day.  The first was held in a small, unused classroom off the second corridor accessible only by the staircase that normally joined the end and the start of the fourth corridor.  

      The group of six Order students had just been dismissed to make their way to their first morning class.  Hermione, fighting a grimace of disgust, stood up and carefully put away her notes and quills.  Dean by her side, patted her arm in what he probably believed was a comforting manner (he wasn't sure he completely understood the 'sensitive new age male' thing his mother talked about - but he was trying).

   "Don't worry - it's got to get better than this."  Dean whispered. 

Hermione rolled her eyes - discretely, "Two hours wasted."  She hissed, "I could have finished reading the History of Magic textbook in that time instead of - _this_!"

The 'this' Hermione referred to was, of course, the early morning session they had just partook in.  It had been a detailed strategic planning session regarding the evacuation of students before the predicted winter solstice attack - directed by Sibyll Trelawney, the Divinations Professor.  And Hermione's stance on Sibyll Trelawney's talent as a Seer and abilities as a professor was well known - if not _renown_.

   "At least we got some work done."  Dean suggested.

Hermione rolled her eyes; as far as she was concerned, it had been a waste of time and mental effort listening to the vague, time-wasting, euphemism-using charlatan.

   "You will do well to avoid the third staircase on your way to your Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Miss Chang."  Sibyll said from her perch behind the dust-covered teacher's desk, "Should you wish to be on time."

Cho Chang, one of the three Ravenclaws Order members attending that day, glanced up and nodded uncertainly, "Thank you, Professor Trelawney."

   "No problem, dear."

Hermione barely bothered not to scoff, "Everybody knows the third staircase is where Peeves normally hovers on Tuesday mornings."  She muttered.

Dean frowned, "Really?"  he paused, "Now that you mention it - he does, doesn't he?"

Hermione shut her back, spell locking it against breaking and heaved it onto her shoulder, "Come on - double Potions with the Slytherins."  She said.

Dean made a face, "Don't remind me."  He groaned. 

   "A moment, Miss Granger."  Sibyll called; the two Gryffindors paused.

While they had talked, the three Ravenclaws and two Hufflepuffs that made up the remaining group of six had left.  

   "Ah -"  Dean looked uncertain.

Sibyll waved one hand vaguely at the boy, "I foresee -"  Hermione snorted, " - that should you dally here, Mr Thomas, you shall loose house points this morn."  She said, voice light, and added in a tone far more steely, "Leave, Mr Thomas."

Dean, glancing uncertainly at Hermione, left.  Hermione, despite herself, was vaguely impressed - not that most of the other professors couldn't have achieved the same results with that same tone.  But this was _Trelawney_.

    The door clicked shut, leaving the two - student and professor - alone in the dust-laden silence of the deserted room.

   "I have Seen that I must correct a misconception you hold, Miss Granger."  Sibyll said in her misty, faraway voice, "Your view of Seers is not completely correct."  

    Hermione stared - even for flaky Trelawney, this was a trifle - abrupt.  _I'm going to be late for Potions if she doesn't get to a point soon._  Hermione thought irritatedly.

    "Seers see - _everything_.  Even a Seer with no talent at Divinations is able to foresee every possible future, every possible path to take, every possible reaction to an action."  She paused once more, her large eyes blinking owlishly behind thick glasses, "You are very intelligent, Miss Granger - surely you can understand what I have just told you."

Hermione stopped herself from rolling her eyes, "You just told me that Divinations is useless.  If you can see everything then you can see nothing.  An infinite population of probabilities is no more use than a population of zero."

Sibyll frowned at the muggle terminology, before waving it away with another languid gesture, "A good Seer - one whose talents are trained - is able to sift through all the possible futures and find the ones most likely to occur."

Hermione stopped herself from rudely scoffing, _And _how _many times has Harry been supposed to die so far?_

   "Hermione -"  the professor continued in what might have been a gentle tone for any one else - and was merely the norm for her, "A _talented _seer has another name - do you know what that name is?"

   "No, Professor."  Hermione said impatiently.

   "Strategist."

*

      Madam Pomfrey eventually made Harry when Ron started ranting again.  ("First Krum now Dean.  .  .  She has this thing for older men doesn't she?"  Harry hadn't been sure if he should tell Ron that Dean was two months younger than Hermione)

    Harry, already slightly late for Potions, left, bemused even as Ron bemoaned having to go under the effects of another sleeping potion (Harry wondered if his reaction to the rumour on Hermione and Dean might have been an after effect of one of the potions he was dosed with).  

    Harry felt - better.  Alive - fully aware of the trickle of sunlight streaming through the windows high overhead.  

    It was easier to pretend when he talked to Ron and Hermione.  Easier to guess which things to care about; when he was with them, the little things didn't seem so - _little_.  Things like who was dating whom (which had been the province of Lavender and Parvati in previous years - but now seemed vastly more entertaining).  _Ron _had kept switching between enraged protective friend to would-be suitor.  It had been confusing - _amusing_ but also confusing.  _I hope he doesn't keep this up all through the year - it's only the second day of term._  Harry grinned at the thought of watching (or witnessing and later providing circumstantial evidence given that this was _Ron _and _Hermione_) the odd courtship of his best friends.  _Good thing Voldemort always attacks us at the end of the year - they always end up friends after I nearly die - or when one of them nearly dies.  .  ._  Harry stopped walking.  _How could I forget?_

    Voldemort would attack before the end of the year - he always did.  And if Ron and Hermione was close to him - they, like Cedric would die.  His memory brought up the vision of Cho Chang, tears trickling down her cheeks.  _Greed.  This is all about greed isn't it?_

    He wanted them around him - wanted to be reminded what it was like to be normal.  Wanted to pretend that things had not changed.  _Playing with their lives - that's what I'm doing.  _

*

      Hermione burst into the Potions room, robes flaring behind her - and came to an abrupt stop as she realised that not only were the other students already seated but that she had just interrupted Professor Snape in mid-lecture.  _I really, really, really hate Trelawney._  She decided as she went bright red.  

   "Miss Granger."  Severus said after a brief silence, "See me after class to discuss your detention.  And twenty points from Gryffindor for disrupting my class."  He added.

Hermione was happy to slide into the empty seat next to Harry without questioning the lack of the usual vitriol.  A brief scrap of parchment appeared in her lap.  She glanced at it, taking in Harry's usual careful scrawl: 'Where were you?'

    Looking up, she met concerned green eyes with a brief shake of her head and a mouthed: 'I'll tell you later'.  It was only later that she would remember how scuffed and pale he seemed.  And only after Lavender and Parvati mentioned it that she realised that Potions class was the first time Draco Malfoy had not taunted the Gryffindors.  She never did think to connect the two facts together - even geniuses after all, required some small link to jump to an informed conclusion.  The only person who had witnessed the altercation that had Draco Malfoy refusing to speak and Harry Potter decidedly uncomfortable was Severus Snape - who neither cared to speak nor saw a need. 

*

      The second conversation Hermione was part of that day occurred just before lunch - right at the end of the fifth year Slytherin and Gryffindor double potions class she had been late to because of Trelawney.

"Miss Granger."  Professor Snape said as the class began to leave, "Stay behind to discuss your detention."

Several of the Slytherins snickered; Hermione stopped herself from clenching her fist - it would have ruined the quills she was packing away.  _Stupid git.  As if I'd forget that I had a detention._  She immediately felt guilty for thinking such thoughts.  _I miss Ron._  _He_ would have been angry at Trelawney and Snape for her.  _There has to be something wrong with needing somebody else to yell for me._  Hermione thought, bemused despite the circumstances.  She closed her bag and stood uncertainly, waiting for the class to empty before approaching what she knew would be a humiliating scene.

    "Do you want me to wait?"  Harry asked quietly - just as Dean popped up behind him to echo the same words.

Parvati and Lavender were giggling again.  Hermione's eyes narrowed._  Oh no - it can't be over _Dean_ and me talking can it?_

   "No Harry - no use wasting your lunch hour as well as mine."  She said hurriedly, "Say 'hi' to Ron for me would you? And tell him I'll try and visit after classes are over."  She added, and lowering her voice, added, "Besides, it'll probably be worse if you stay - you know how Professor Snape gets."  

Harry nodded and left, following Seamus, Neville and a worried Dean.  Parvati and Lavender's giggles echoed as they followed suit; Hermione groaned mentally.  _I'm not going to get any sleep tonight _am_ I?_ She thought; last year's Daily Prophet debacle had proven just how effective her two roommates were at interrogation.  _No one expects the Spanish Inquisition - especially not when it comes in the form of two English witches!_

    Professor Snape was sitting at his table, reading the first of the summer homework.  Hermione approached with some trepidation and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  

   "Sir?"  her stomach tightened - she had skipped breakfast, and it looked like she would lunch as well.  _Come on Professor - even greasy potion masters have to eat.  Right?_  

Severus looked up, eyes hooded as he handed her the scroll he had been reading - it was rolled to reveal only the last few paragraphs, "Tell me what you see here, Miss Granger." 

Bewildered, Hermione took the scroll - it was not, as she had expected, an essay on the uses and misuses of catnip in relation to kneazles (the topic for the summer).

   "Sir?"

   "I had expected a fifth year capable of analysing without outside aide, Miss Granger - but if you must, you may read out loud."  He snapped then sighed, "The essay, Miss Granger.  Read it.  Now.  No - you silly chit.  Not all of it, just the end."

Hermione automatically started, reading quickly - pride stung, " - the legend states that Godric Gryffindor transformed into a noble dragon briefly during the Battle of the Lion (circa 104 AD).  The legend, of course, is the source of the mythology surrounding the Gryffindor House colours of scarlet and gold.  It should be noted that the quotation - and its derivation (_tendo te draco ignis te scelero te draco_) of which has been popularly used throughout several of the main magical arts variously as an ethical guide and ethos (Potions, Divinations and Magical Creatures to name three) - has since been sourced from that time period and occurrence.  However, research reveals the quotation itself is a derivation of a larger text found in books written more than one hundred years prior to Godric Gryffindor's birth."  Hermione stopped, confused (not to mention a trifle embarrassed).  

She recognised the words - had written them herself in first year as part of an attempt to earn extra points for Gryffindor (given their antics that year, it had been sorely needed) after the troll incident.  It was not something she was particularly proud of - especially given the rushed approach she had been forced to adopt to finish it on time - what with Harry in the Infirmary and Ron recovering from nearly being skewered by giant chess pieces her ability to research had been a trifle disrupted.__

   "Continue."  Professor Snape said, leaning back.

Confused - and hungry - Hermione read on: "The earliest version of the original text from which the quotation was derived notes that it itself was translated from Oggham - a certain explanation for the vagaries in sentence structure and choice of words found in the Latin phrase used forthwith."  Hermione stopped, and after a moment of silence added, "It ends there, sir."

   "Indeed."  Severus Snape leaned forward, "When did you write that essay, Miss Granger?"

   "First year, sir."

Severus Snape arched an eyebrow, "Ever the Gryffindor Swot, Miss Granger? I believe Professor McGonnagal assigns such extra-credit opportunities for house points to the higher levels."  He paused, "Given your abysmal memory for time of late -"  Hermione flinched and flushed, " - I can only assume you would have forgotten the text you refer."

   "Text - sir?"

   "The one containing the original text from which the quotation was derived."  Severus snapped impatiently, "What was your source material?"

Hermione glanced down - Professor McGonnagal had never spoken to her on it, had merely assigned her the twenty points.  Hermione had simply thanked whatever deities the wizarding world believed in that there had been no request for the bibliography.  _Bad things happen to those who cheat._  She cringed inwardly.

   "Well?"  Severus demanded.

   "'_The Big Book of Old Fairy Tales_'."  

There was a pause, "What?"

   "It's a book cataloguing the lesser known fairy tales told in the muggle world, sir."  Hermione said, not meeting the potions master's gaze, "The original text is one of the older stories - there was this little note at the front of the story saying it dated back as far as 874 BC.  It's Celtic."  She added uncertainly.  

   "A muggle fairy tale."  Severus repeated.

   "Yes sir."  Hermione didn't raise her eyes from the stone of the dungeon floors; she couldn't stop herself from adding plaintively, "I know it isn't a proper source - but it was only a tiny note at the end of the essay -"  she looked up and realised the potions master was shaking his head in grim humour.

   "The oldest of the Du'Lér family legends is a Celtic myth."  He murmured quietly, "I am certain this 'Big Book of Old Fairy Tales' is not in any part of the Hogwarts school library.  Do you still have access to this - book?"  he demanded.

Hermione had a sudden disorientating view of her bedroom bookcase - and the tattered old book her Mother had given her for her fifth birthday, stored on the highest shelf, out of the way with Bumpkin the Bear, "Yes sir."

Severus Snape leaned forward, a positively evil smile crossing his lips, "Excellent.  You, Miss Granger, are going to help me solve a mystery."  He said.

   "Sir?"  Hermione stared wide eyed.

   "Consider it -"  Severus glanced at the scroll, still in her hands, "Extra credit."

_Ron's right._  Hermione decided.  _They're mental.  All of them.  Dumbledore.  Trelawney.  Snape.  Especially Snape._   

=====================================================================****

**Author's Note**: For the interested, 'Du'Lér' basically means (at least for the purposes of this story as my ability to speak French is as bad as my ability to speak Latin - in other words, non-existent) 'of Lér'.  The legend Severus speaks of in the Du'Lér family past is the (very) famous fairy tale of the seven swans - except the original had a little bit more regarding deity-hood, elves and royalty.  If you want more information, drop a note in a review and I'll provide it in the next author's note.  ^_^

Now, on to answers to the reviews.  ^_^ 

**RoseFairy **- Firstly - yum! And secondly - [grins] being put into the Best Fics archive? [ego inflates] Thanks! ^_^

**MistyKasumi** - Is this soon enough? ~grins~

**Oando **- Thanks for the compliment, and once more, thank you for pointing out the problem in the first place.  I would never have caught it (never have thought to look for that problem actually!) without your review.  Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter.  And I guess I'll post eventually to fictionalley.org - though I'm a little nervous.  Fictionalley.org seems so much more - large.  ^_^;

**Bluevanilla **- Didn't I promise all of you H/D? ~grins~ Well, eventually the two will have a proper, indepth relationship.  Till then, we can watch the 'foreplay' (so to speak ^_^).

**AshFarley** - carpet! Wonderful fluffy, thick carpet.  Now tell me, what did you think of Chapter Sixteen's plot-related plot? Are things making more sense now? (And come to think of it, are people disappointed at how UN-complicated it has turned out to be?).  ****

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

**- edited 28th September for various formating, story and plot-related errors**


	19. Scenelets

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

Reviews greatly appreciated, specifically on characterisation.  The more I deal with non-main characters from the books, the more likely it is that I end up verging towards out-of-characterisation problems.  So early warnings might be nice.  ^_^

Reply to reviews and author's note after chapter.

=====================================================================

**Chapter Seventeen**: Scenelets

      The first class of the day started at nine - for Hermione Granger, the day technically began at five, although she woke up and left for breakfast at the same time as Lavender and Parvati.  The strangely expressionless look on Ron's face as she and Dean left the Great Hall early stayed in her mind as she hurried up the fourth corridor.

   "What's wrong with Ron?"  Dean asked, "I swear, he looked like he wanted to kill me."  Dean paused and added with slight hesitation, "It's not about threatening him yesterday is it? Cause that was a joke - mostly."

Hermione shook her head, "I have no idea.  They - Harry and Ron - don't really tell me these things."  She paused, "Usually I have to force them to tell me _anything_ really."  She pushed aside the surge of sadness at those words; there was no time for melodrama, - it was already the third day of the new school year.  

   "Do you think Cho Chang and her group found a solution? They seemed happy yesterday night at dinner."  Dean commented as they ran up the stairs, pausing only to grip the sides as stone shuddered and revolved across empty air.

Hermione remembered the exhaustion in the three Ravenclaw students last night.  They had probably over used the time turners to reach a solution so quickly.  _And yet, we are still running out of time._  Time - it all seemed to come down to time.  Time that the time turners could give - but not the rest and respite it was supposed to provide.  _Still, they looked - happy.  _

    Harry had noticed she knew - he had brightened up when he had caught sight of Cho Chang's smile.  

    "I hope she has."  Hermione said finally as the staircase reached the second corridor.  They flipped the time turners together; three and a half hours prior to that moment, Hermione continued, "If we can't find a way to hide the students after we evacuate them, we might as well not bother."  

*

      Draco Malfoy's eyes snapped open to the (now) familiar sight of the underside of his bed and firmly forced himself to forget the last remnants of the dream hovering on his subconscious.  It was the third day of the new school year, and the second day thus far he had woken up with a - problem.  _Problem.  _That_'s a new euphemism._  

    The silence of the room bolstered his sense of isolation - normally something to be hated, now something to be treasured.  He slipped his hand underneath the blankets and closed his eyes.  _Pansy - naked - no! Dressed in that pink slip she said her youngest aunt bought her for Christmas._  

    He slipped into the vision - _Flash of cream.  Tinted with gold - where does she go during the summer - and golden hair, smells of vanilla, and -_

_    Stone cold underneath my back; black hair - no gold - no black.  Green eyes.  Too real to be a dream - too surreal to be real.  A roll of his hips to confirm mutual attraction; a gasp of surprise and shock and acceptance.  Hands, pressed against his chest - no, running against his skin, _touching _him -_

    Draco forced his eyes open from the dream like state he had fallen into.  _Morgen-cursed.  _He hoped with a passion that would have been frowned upon by his ancestors that whatever it was about the curse that was giving him dreams on Potter would stop soon.  

    _That wasn't a dream.  Not _all _of it._  

    Draco frowned at the thought.  _Blame it on the House Elves.  If they would just use more magical mold remover I wouldn't have been using those bathrooms._  And then he wouldn't have walked straight into Potter half asleep.  Draco shuddered.

    _This is humiliating.  Honestly - dreaming about Potter.  Next thing I'll be talking to the youngest Weasley - Jenny or whatever it was her name is.  And then I might as well call myself Longbottom and resign myself to being a pathetic idiot born solely to amuse others with my utter inanity._  

    His body, however, didn't share his good taste in sexual partners.  _I'd settle for the right sex._  Draco paused and shook away the thoughts.  _Pansy and a pink slip.  And champagne, strawberries and chocolate - because only plebs do it quickly._  

    Though he doubted he'd last for much longer - but his imagination could at least slip in several hours between one hasty stroke and the next.

      In the room, the silence broken only by his hissed breath, it was - almost - all right.  In the moment when his vision flickered be-silvered white, he could almost imagine that things were - normal.  Almost forget the reason for the bare walls and floor that made up this cell-by-another-name.

*

"The fact remains unchanged,"  Cho Chang stated in a clear, high voice that, Hermione knew, would have drawn Harry's attention like kneazles to catnip, "We cannot evacuate children to unknown locations without the permission of their guardians."  

    The sixth year Ravenclaw stood before the Order and most of the faculty members of Hogwarts with an aura of complete assurance, black hair tucked neatly behind her ears.  Hermione stared at her - _She really is beautiful._  She thought with equal handed fairness.  _But other than being really smart with enviable composure and maturity - which most of the Ravenclaws have anyway - what does Harry see in her? I've been working with Cho all summer and I still think she has a personality like a pancake.  Either she's hiding a depth of syrup underneath or there's nothing there but intelligence.  And intelligence without _use_, as Grandmother always said, is data without information._  Hermione shook the thoughts away - _Maybe I just don't understand what boys see in girls._  Maybe all Harry really saw was the beauty.  _How depressing._  She turned back to the presentation - one of the other two Ravenclaw students was holding up a map of the United Kingdom, detailing the positions of the hidden places that were currently being prepared for use.  

    "As we are all aware, blood-based tracing spells - while usually ineffective - are a risk that we cannot accept."  Cho continued and paused briefly to answer the question raised by a second year on blood-based tracing spells.

Hermione mentally recited the definition.  Cho was correct - the risk was one even a Gryffindor would not accept.  Tracing spells were hard - combining three of the four main magical arts - and likely to fail completely outside of a small amount of space (about the size of a room, she had estimated).  However, blood - especially shared blood - was powerful.  The blood of a family member, coupled with intent was a combination unlikely (if at all) to fail.  _Blood and hope._  It was the origins of magic.  

    "The families will be, understandably, unwilling to knowingly allow their children to be hidden - without reason.  Our problem is that while we can provide the reason, the majority of the wizarding community will not believe its viability.  As it stands, the situation reduces itself to two extremes - risk the safety of the hidden places, or reveal their existence."  Cho Chang paused, "Neither of these extremes are particularly conducive to the purpose of the Order - that is, to protect the students of Hogwarts and create a working hidden network in the muggle world.  Thus, the only possible solution discovered by our task group is to expose You-Know-Who's existence to the wizarding world.  The knowledge will camouflage our actions, aid in preparations of the wider world at large for the threat -"  

Hermione was struck by a sudden sensation of inadequacy as the room exploded into murmurs.  The Ravenclaw sixth year's proposed solution would solve all the problems the students in the Order had faced while attempting to find some way to evacuate four hundred students _and_ keep them safely hidden.  _Simple - yet effective_.  Hermione shook her head, _But almost impossible to achieve - still, the idea is brilliant._  Another thought struck her: _At least Harry falls for _smart_ girls._  Unlike Ron.  Hermione frowned.  She had been having the _strangest_ arguments with him lately.  _If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was jealous.  Except I can't, for the life of me, determine _who_ he's jealous _of_._

   " - not to mention discredit Minister Cornelius Fudge, thus disabling his ability to sabotage any further strategies in this war."  Cho Chang finished with a twisted smile.  

There was a brief moment of silence before the applause started; Hermione glanced towards where the teachers - including Professor Dumbledore - were seated.  All of them - except the Headmaster - wore confounded expressions mingled with genuine surprise.  _Didn't expect this from the 'children' did you?_ Professor Dumbledore caught her glance and smiled, gold rimmed glasses glinting in the early morning sunlight streaming through the windows.  

*

      "Mornin' Draco."  Greg mumbled, mouth full.

Draco ignored the boy, sliding into his seat - Greg, Blaise and Pansy automatically shuffled several inches away.  In the midst of the Great Hall, Draco found himself surrounded by space.  

   "Slytherin Quidditch trials today."  Greg remarked quietly.

   "Are you going to try for Bludger?"  Blaise asked.

Pansy, seated on the other side of Blaise looked up briefly, "You would be a natural, Greg."  She said, with a brief smile that Draco caught out of the corner of his eyes; breakfast today consisted of the usual pancakes, toast, bacon and eggs.

Greg shrugged, "Maybe.  Probably try Chaser - since Vince isn't here any more."  He continued, low voice a continuous bass rumble.  

Marcus Flint had graduated the previous year - as had his Gryffindor counterpart, Oliver Wood.  Which meant the position of Quidditch Captain - for both Houses - were up for grabs.  _And if there is any question on who the Gryffindor Captain will be - then Professor Snape will charm the Dark Lord's robe pink at the next dark revel._  Draco thought bitterly, looking up to glare at the trite trio.

    "Are you going to stay on as Seeker, Draco?"  Pansy asked, voice soft enough that nobody but the three boys could hear her.

Draco turned from the Gryffindor table, surprised - despite himself, "What? Why would I give up being Seeker?"  _And let Potter think he's won - again? I'd as soon declare my undying love for the Weasel _and_ the Beaver!_

Blaise was staring at him - so was Pansy.  Only Greg remained placidly eating his breakfast.

   "Draco, isn't it a little - dangerous - for you to fly?"  Blaise finally said, "The broomsticks are, well - wooden."

   "Go up in a puff of smoke if you touched it."  Greg rumbled agreeably.

Draco stared at them, a sinking sensation in his stomach.  _Morgen-cursed._  It was becoming a statement rather than blasphemy.

    The Weasel was laughing - head thrown back, red hair a scarlet flag echoed three times through the table.  The Beaver looked embarrassed and had turned a light shade of red.  Potter just looked confused.  _Natural state for the idiot._  Weasley leaned over, muttering something into Potter's ear - hand casually thrown around the other boy's shoulder.  _Bastard._

    Potter had won - just like that, without knowing it.  Without raising a finger.  Without a question being raised on the possibility of his failure.  _Bastard.  Bastard.  Bastard._

    The scream caught Draco by surprise; he blinked and realised half the Gryffindor table were standing, jumping back from (a knot of apprehension twisted in his stomach) the flames that were suddenly burning merrily in the centre of the table.  The Great Hall - till then filled with noise - was suddenly silent.

   "Fred and George Weasley!"  Professor McGonnogal snapped, stalking to the table.

   "It wasn't us, Professor!"  two voices chimed immediately, "Honest!"

   "Fifty points -"  there was a low groan of dismay from the Gryffindors, " - and a month of detentions for blatant disregard of the safety of your house mates."  Professor McGonnogal bit out. __

Draco smirked, _Well, looks like there are _some_ benefits to this curse._  

    "Mister Malfoy."  Professor Snape's low voice sent shivers of dread running down his spine; he straightened in reflex and turned, schooling his face to be blank.

   "Good morning, sir."

   "My office, Mister Malfoy."  Snape said, "Now."

    Potter was talking with Weasley and Granger, the three heads close to each other, shoulders casually touching as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  

    Pansy murmured good luck as Draco stood - spine straight, movements controlled - one hand briefly hovering over his shoulder.  She allowed it to stay there - long enough for the warmth to radiate through the material.  _Bastard.  Bastard.  Bastard.  Bastard._

*

      " - coming Hermione?"

Hermione jerked out of her reverie - realised with a start she was eating broccoli (something she avoided if she could help it) and that Ron had been talking to her for the past minute.  _Oh - damn._  She rewound the conversation through her mind and sighed.  _Nothing important then._

   "I'm sorry Ron - I don't have time.  I still have to finish my Muggles in the Wizarding World homework."  Not quite a lie - she had begun to catalogue anything that was not part of her real classes as homework for the fictional subject.

Ron looked disappointed, then brightened, "I still have to finish that scroll Hagrid -"  he made a face, "_Hagrid_ giving scrolls.  Has the world gone mad? I'll be glad when practical classes start again - set last week.  I'll join you in the library."

Hermione could only nod (_Ron? Actually doing homework/ Before it's due?_) numbly and mentally added four extra hours to her already long day.  _I should probably start on my Arithmancy assignment anyway._  

   "Guess you'll have to watch the Quidditch trials by yourself, Harry."  Ron continued, oblivious to Hermione's mental sigh.  

Harry looked up from where he had been swirling patterns through his mash potatoes, "What?"

   "The Quidditch trials.  Remember?"  Ron said, "We were going to watch them together - except, well, I'm going to finish my Magical Creatures assignment with Hermione so you'll be by yourself now."

Harry frowned, "Oh - I'll join you two in the library -"

   "No -!"  both Hermione and Harry jumped slightly in shock at the vehemence in Ron's voice, "Ah - I mean - well, you really wanted to watch the Ravenclaw trials remember, Harry.  So you could talk to Cho Chang -?"  Ron was pantomiming something to Harry.

Hermione rolled her eyes.  _Oh this is about Cho again_.  Honestly, if this was the way they acted when they were fifteen, she wasn't sure she wanted to be around them until _after _they graduated.  

   "Oh - okay."  Harry said, "I guess - I could talk to Cho."  He trailed off, staring back down at his dinner.

*

      "I'll meet you in the library in twenty minutes."  Hermione placated Ron, shoving him out of the portal - barely noting the Fat Lady's squawk of surprise at the sudden motion.

Ron frowned, "But why can't I just wait for you in the common room -"

   "I - well, there might not be any tables left -"

   "Why not? It's not as if there are any assignments due any time soon -"

Hermione sighed, "Look - it's just a girl thing, all right?"  

Ron went red, "Oh - ah - right -"  he glanced around uneasily then said, "I'll just - wait for you at the library, right?"

   "You do that."  Hermione said, letting the portrait swing back into place; she glanced around the Common Room - currently empty, most of the students were either still at dinner or out on the Quidditch Pitch for the trials.  _Better do it quickly before Ron comes back or something worse._  She thought, gathering her bag and flipping the time turner.

    The sunlight streaming through the windows was the only sign that time had reversed itself - again.  The Common Room was safely deserted - the last classes of the day were still being held after all.  Hermione lit the fire with a clearly spoken '_incendio_' and threw in the pinch of floo powder, "Professor Snape!"

The flames turned green after a brief pause; Hermione stepped through without hesitation.  Her last thought before she was whirled away to the dungeons via Hogwarts' internal floo network was: _This day just keeps getting longer and longer._

*

      Ron Weasley was not stupid.  _Well, at least I don't _think_ I'm stupid._  He added with the honesty that was an integral part of his nature.  He knew something was wrong.  Harry wouldn't talk about the holidays - and hadn't mentioned anything about his godfather or his dreams.  Sure sign that he was hiding something.  He would have mentioned this to Hermione - but she was already running herself ragged (and it was only the third day of school! He wondered if she would go mental from overwork _before _or _after_ the Christmas holidays).  Which meant that he was the one who would have to figure out what was wrong.  _How hard can it be?_

    He even knew exactly where to start.  Ron grinned as he slung his book bag over his shoulder and made his way down to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.  And the new Defence Professor's office.  He gave nary a thought to the fact that his self-appointed mission would likely make him late for his meeting, in twenty minutes, with Hermione Granger.

      Which, in all likelihood, was a good thing as at that precise moment, Hermione Granger was staring in shock at an ancient parchment and uttering those immortal words: "That's impossible!"

*

      Harry Potter carefully shut the door to the broom closet that had been given the name 'Seeker's Space' long before his godfather, father and mother had first arrived at Hogwarts.  He slid, ignoring the rough friction of the splintering wood against his back.  _I shouldn't have asked._  Simple words - and a simple command - that could now never be followed.__

    He might have cried - had his insides not felt as twisted as the tails of a king rat.  He might have hit something, had he not known - with that voice of reason that speaks even in the worse of traumatic moments - the explanations to Madam Pomfrey was a risk he could not take.  He might have shouted - had he known how to create wards that would trap sound.  He might have travelled in time to stop himself - _But if I could - I would go all the way back and make all of this impossible._  

    He cradled his head in arms supported by raised legs and stared, sightlessly at the darkness behind his eyelids.  _I shouldn't have asked her.  .  .  I shouldn't have -_  he swallowed.  The silence in the Seeker's Space mocked him.  Outside, on the pitch, he could still hear the Ravenclaw Captain calling out encouragement to the students attempting to become the new Keeper.  There were several more waiting to try for the newly vacated position of Ravenclaw Seeker.  

    _Why did I ask her?_

    He hadn't meant to ask Cho Chang - but he had - _I shouldn't have said anything._  He should never have even approached her.  _Idiot - stupid, brainless - _Gryffindor_ - idiot -!_

    The door was a solid weight against his back; she had stared at him as if he had committed the greatest betrayal - and he hadn't been able to meet her eyes.  He had looked down, and seen the yellow and black band wrapped around the upper arm of her robes and hadn't been able to drag his eyes away.  

    _I shouldn't have had to ask.  I should have _known_._  

    Cedric Diggory was _dead_ - and nothing could ever be the same again.  _And maybe.  .  .  Maybe I should stop pretending that it _can_ be._

=====================================================================****

**Author's Note**: They're all oblivious aren't they? Hermione doesn't know what Ron is doing.  Ron has no idea what Hermione is up to.  And neither of them have noticed Harry - though admittedly, Harry has spent most of his time trying to make sure they didn't notice.  Still, this chapter wasn't as depressing as the original draft.  (Speaking of that particular draft, the Draco dreams - or should that be Harry dreams? - were heavily edited.  I pushed my PG-13 rating just a little too far and decided that serious editing was required).  Now on to the replies to reviews! ^_^ (Hey - I'm two reviews short of a hundred.  0_0 Wow.)  
  


**Ameal Kensig, Ann **- thank you!

**MistyKasumi **- the scene between Draco and Harry (referenced in the previous chapter and briefly mentioned in the first scenelet of this chapter) will be further described as the chapters progress.  Suffice to say, Draco is taking it more seriously than Harry (who has more things on his mind at the moment).

**AshFarley **- Don't worry, the Latin quote will be explained fully (complete with author's note explanation if needed).  In fact, the next chapter will revolve around Draco and Severus and Hermione's research on what his 'gift' actually is (not to mention the earring Narcissa Malfoy sent to Severus).  

**Sildtsr **- ~nervous grin~ Well, I took your advice and posted to fictionalley.org.  Not all the chapters (as they read through each submission manually, I thought it'd be a good idea not to give the poor volunteers too much of a headache first time through ^_^) but eventually I'll be manually uploading both to Fanfiction.net and Fictionalley.org.  

**Kandra **- Hermione is definitely one of the more complex characters I seem to be trying to write isn't she? ^_^

Now, as for your question - there are two sequels tentatively planned at the moment.  You'll just have to wait to find out precisely what happens however.  ^_^ (No, no spoilers.  Not till Without Question's Epilogue at least!)

**tnf **- I wondered if anybody would catch the Monty Python reference.  ^_^

Draco mentioned to Severus that nobody - not even Voldemort - expected his 'power' to be so 'great'.  Pansy Parkinson mentions that the 'collar' (or torque) Draco wears can't completely control the 'gift' on  the Hogwarts Express.  I can't say much - as this is part of the plot - but Voldemort does not as yet realise Draco's 'gift' isn't completely controlled by the 'collar' he's wearing.  That Harry's touch use to burn Voldemort - and cannot be harmed by Draco - is significant.  Additionally, Draco's 'gift' - and the chaos he's currently causing - plays less of a part in the battle Draco believes he will be part of then he realises.  

As for Narcissa Malfoy - she does reappear, but not for a while yet.  ^_^

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**


	20. Everything In Between

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

Reviews greatly appreciated, specifically on characterisation.  The more I deal with non-main characters from the books, the more likely it is that I end up verging towards out-of-characterisation problems.  So early warnings might be nice.  ^_^

Author's note after chapter.  

=====================================================================

**Chapter Eighteen**: Everything in Between

"Well, Miss Granger?"  Severus demanded, tone edged with impatience, "Your declaration, one hopes, has more supporting it than adolescent dismissal of experience."  He paused, then sighed, "Elucidate you silly twit." 

Hermione jerked, eyes narrowing at his tone.  There were many things Hermione was capable of ignoring – having her intelligence questioned was not one of them.

   "Not all things are possible, Professor."

    They had spent almost four hours hashing - and rehashing - everything known of Draco Malfoy's summer adventures in an effort to create a likely scenario that might have resulted in his 'gift'.  The list was pitifully short - though not as short as both their tempers.  The time spent had not been productive.

    "Manticore-unicorn hybrids are impossible."  Hermione continued, "Offspring of a pegasus and gryphon are impossible.  Sentient dragons are impossible.  Being neutral in the war is impossible."  _Arguing with teachers is becoming a habit._  A slightly strained voice in the back of Hermione's mind noted as she continued, "And Malfoy's 'gift' is impossible."

   "Really?"  Severus drawled sarcastically, "And yet - evidence disproves your - _astounding_ logical train of thought."  

Hermione gestured sharply at the crumbling parchments and leather-bound books littering the table before them, "Your own evidence disproves you, _Professor_."

   "I fail to see where.  The sheer magnitude of spells, potions, charms, rites _and _curses enabling their recipient the ability to burn by touch, sight and presence was what brought me to request your aid in research, Miss Granger."  Severus bit out, "A fact I now sorely regret."

   "Sir."  Hermione said, voice tight, "Every single one of the methods you have listed lasts for a short period of time.  So unless Malfoy has been sneaking repeat doses we're wasting time including those in our search."  Hermione paused, "He wouldn't be would he? Taking some sort of potion to give himself powers, I mean."  She added hastily – and winced at the decidedly Ron-esque sentence structure.

Severus, eyes narrowed with anger, paused as well; the silence stretched, "No.  He would not be."  

   "How can you be sure?"  the words slipped out; Hermione bit her lip.

The Professor suddenly looked exhausted; he sat down abruptly in one of the high backed chairs arranged around the table - Hermione had not realised that they had been, almost literally, nose to nose as they argued.

   "Draco Malfoy is, fundamentally, motivated socially rather than physically or academically -"  here a brief nod at Hermione, (_A compliment? From the potions professor? Ron will never believe it when I tell him._) " – or, in deed, by any of the other factors often encountered in sentient beings.  He has never been one to isolate himself physically despite his attempts to ensure his social superiority."  Severus said evenly, "This - 'gift' - has enforced a solitude that is very much against Draco Malfoy's nature."

_Social? _Malfoy_? Where is Ron to make a smart-alec comment when I need him?_ Hermione thought vaguely before shaking the thought away, "Precisely."  She said crisply, "That's why we should focus our search on the methods that are permanent.  Methods that imply Malfoy wasn't 'gifted' with his - problems - but that his abilities are a 'talent'.  One that he has - grown into."  

   "All methods that provide permanency require a period of time exceeding the boy in question's _age_, Miss Granger."  Severus retorted, "And while one should never underestimate Lucius Malfoy's sheer ability to bungle his way towards astounding discoveries - time travel of such magnitude and paradox requires more than even he is capable of."  

Hermione shook her head insistently, "Not all of them."  At Severus' lack of response she continued, "There are a few methods.  Specifically those revolving around children – especially new-borns."

   "Legends."  Severus snapped, then paused.

Both their eyes flickered to where Hermione's essay lay - half crumpled beneath a pile of other parchments - with its damning source of a fairy tale so old only muggles still knew of its existence.  Hermione found herself the focus of black eyes - and were it not for the fact that she knew – despite popular belief - that eyes rarely conveyed emotions, she might have believed she saw a flash of hope hidden therein.  

   "Nothing you have told me, and nothing I have witnessed has matched the symptoms of a short term potion, charm, rite or spell."  Hermione said, "Malfoy's abilities are too - all encompassing.  Were this a short term ability that requires renewal, he would only be able to cause fires with touch _or _presence - _not _both.  He started a fire clear across the Great Hall this morning.  The pegasus colt's wings went up when he touched it.  The House Elves indicated he literally burned the _air_ unconsciously while he slept.  These are all signs of a very powerful, uncontrollable talent.  Not some short term ability requiring regular doses of some unknown potion, curse or spell."  She paused, "So unless fire-starting is an actual talent in the wizarding world – rather than a fantastical creation of muggle fantasy writers – Malfoy has a magical talent that was induced – probably when he was still a baby."  Hermione finished, glaring defiantly at the potions Professor.

    There was silence as Severus leaned back in his chair, staring at her, eyes hooded.

   "What makes you, Miss Granger, a _muggle_-born, the sudden expert on symptoms of magical talent?"  Severus drawled derisively finally.

   "_Because _I am a muggle-born, _sir._"  Hermione replied flatly, "I know what having something you can't control, can't help and can barely comprehend feels like."  She whirled, then glanced up at the clock, "If you do not agree with my theories, then I don't see what use working with you will be, sir."  She continued as she gathered her books together, "It would be far faster for both of us if we worked separately to discover the answer."  

      Severus remained seated after Hermione Granger stormed out of his quarters.  Beneath the rolling anger at such blatant impudence and disrespect (and the urge to reduce Gryffindor's fledgling House points to negative marks for having to witness it) was bemusement.  Despite the enmity between Slytherin and Gryffindor, the child was - willingly it seemed - helping to save what could loosely be termed her nemesis.  _Silly, stupid, foolhardy Gryffindor_.  Her competitive nature might have placed her in Slytherin (but for her blood) if not for her inability to ignore challenges in her chosen field of battle.  

    In her own way, Hermione Granger was as much prone to thoughtlessly answering the call to defeat an unknown challenger as her house mates.

    Severus could not help but wonder what sort of woman the girl would grow into when forethought joined the already formidable weapons of intelligence and conviction (ignorant or not).  _A terrifying concept indeed._

*

      "Ron - hey Ron!"

Ron rolled out of sleep and would have screamed (something he would have been frightfully embarrassed over later) had a hand not been held over his mouth.  He blinked rapidly and realised the shape kneeling on his bed over him was not (as he had sleepily assumed) a Death Eater, an escaped fugitive from Azkaban or McGonnogal (all the fearsome fates a fifteen year old boy did not want to wake up to).  The shape resolved itself into one of his twin brothers.  _Worse._  His muzzy, sleepy mind fed a name.  _George.  Fred's hair isn't as straight._

   "Get lost, George - it's middle of the night -"  he said (or at least something vaguely similar given the hand over his mouth) and tried to roll over.

   "Ron! Harry quit Quidditch!"  George hissed.

Ron sat up, dislodging his older brother, "What?!"  and ducked as a pillow went flying across the room.

   "Shu' up - s' middle of the nigh'!"  Dean's voice - rough with sleep - growled.

   "Sleep? At a time like this?!"  Ron groaned as Fred's voice boomed across the - till then - (mostly) silent room, "Forsooth!"

   "For what?"  the last from Neville, who was a dark silhouette sitting up in his bed.

   "'Forsooth' you ignorant wizard - it's old English -"  Seamus yawned, " - or something that means - something -"  the Irish boy was sitting up as well now, "Ron - why are your brothers in our room?"

Two pillows simultaneously flew across the room, smacking into Neville (who hadn't seen it fast enough to duck) and Seamus (who caught it).

   "Shut up all of you! I'm trying to sleep!"  Dean shouted - they all paused, staring wide eyed at the normally even-tempered boy; the silence stretched, then a small voice said, "Can I have my pillows back please?"

There were muffled thumps as three pillows were thrown back across the room.

      And after that, there was nothing but for all of them to tumble downstairs to where the Quidditch Trial notice had been tacked up along with the rest of the notices in the Common Room.  Ron had expected it to be some mistake - it was _Quidditch_.  How could Harry give up _Quidditch_? He was the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in two centuries.  The best Gryffindor Seeker _ever_.  There was no way Harry would quit the team.  Not Harry.  Not without telling Ron – not that Harry ever would because he would never quit.  After all, it was _Quidditch_.

    They stared at the notice - written in the flowing green ink that marked any Hogwarts enchanted writing.  At the top of the list was Keeper (Oliver Wood had graduated the previous year and the sixth year boy who had been marked to inherit the position had transferred to Beauxbatons that year) - followed by one of the Chaser positions.  And underneath that, in emerald green ink that was already dry: Seeker.  

   "Ron - where's Harry?"  Neville asked into the silence. 

Ron blinked, "Asleep -"  he stopped - Harry hadn't been in bed when he had gone up, and he knew without looking that he wasn't there now either, "Isn't it past curfew?"

   "It's so early it's tomorrow, Ron.  Of course it's past curfew!"  Dean said, yawning, "So where's Harry gone to?"

   "Talking to Professor McGonnogal about changing his mind?"  Neville asked hopefully; the other boys stared at him, he held up his hands in defence, "Well – he could be!"

Ron frowned, "Hermione."    
There was a pause.

   "Right."  Seamus said into the silence, "It must be too early for me tonker to tonk 'cause I swear I just heard you say that Harry Potter – your best friend – is with Hermione Granger – your other best friend – after curfew."

There was another pause – though this one was filled with brief scuffling noises as Ron managed to grab Seamus in a head lock.

   "Disturbing mental images aside –"  George began, (ignoring Fred's: "Oh – please let's have more disturbing mental images.  They're so much more fun than having to find a way to replace a Seeker as good as Harry –") " – what would Hermione know about Harry?"

Ron – now on the ground scuffling with Seamus – panted out: "Stands to reason that Harry would have told her or me about quitting the team right? So if it ain't me – it's got to be Hermione."  ("Gettimofme!"  Seamus was shouting – despite the fact that he was now on top of Ron and attempting to shake the stranglehold the other boy had on his sleeve.)

   "Right."  Fred straightened, pushed up the sleeves of his pyjamas (green with tiny whizzing bees – though most of them were asleep at the moment), "We go ask her then."

There was another pause (broken only by Ron choking for breath as Seamus clouted him in the stomach).

   "Into the girl's dormitory."  Neville said finally.

   "Yes."  Fred stared quizzically at the fifth year boys, "Haven't any of you gone up there before?"  he struck a pose (Number 473 in Ron's internal encyclopaedia of 'Understanding when to run from Fred and George's latest plan'), "Such is the result of lowering standards for entry into Gryffindor, brother dear.  The shame of it! Our own brother (and his friends) never having snuck into the girls dormitories – and at such an advanced age!"  he wiped an imaginary tear from his eyes as Dean and Neville looked uncomfortable, "Why, by your age, George and I had become as intimately familiar with the girls' dorms as our own."

   "Yeah well – bet you didn't have Lavender, Parvati and Hermione in _your_ year."  Neville muttered, "They threatened to put makeup on us if we even _thought _about using all the hot water in the morning."  He shuddered.

   "How much worse would it be if they caught us sneaking into their dorms?"  Dean added, "And Hermione is good at Transfiguration.  _I_ don't want to end up as the _real_ Banana Man."    

     "Be that as it may, Mr Thomas, it still does not explain why you are mentioning this fact at three in the morning."

    They all froze at the new voice; as one the four standing boys (Dean, Neville, Fred and George) turned to find a sleepy Minerva McGonnogal in the doorway of the common room.  The Head of Gryffindor House stared down to the ground, one eyebrow arched quizzically.

   "And precisely what do you intend to do with Mr Weasley's pyjama top, Mr Finnigan?"

Seamus looked at the Professor, then down to his fist and the cloth clenched tightly within.  

   "Ah – feed it to him?"

*

Harry Potter – despite past experience – was not hiding beneath his invisibility cloak and spying on the Defence Against Dark Arts Professor.  Nor was he visiting Hagrid and Fang or searching for his fugitive godfather somewhere amidst the secret tunnels and passages of Hogwarts.  As Draco Malfoy discovered, Harry Potter was seated on the banks of the lake, beneath one of the large trees that bordered the shore.

    Draco smirked – suddenly, having to wander the grounds in search of sleeping pegasuses no longer seemed such a miserable task.  Especially as _he_ had permission to wander the ground while the Boy Who (Obviously) Didn't Know How to Hide decidedly did not_._  

It was the strange hours before dawn – when the air was pervaded with a light neither dark or bright.  The grass was silvered with frost.  He was cold.  The sensation was novel.  _There are no fires here._  

Harry Potter sat, a still, small form beneath the tree's shadowed branches.  He seemed almost a statue – but for the white puffs that hovered briefly over his head, marking that he breathed.  _Since when did I notice so much of Potter?_

    He ignored the voice that remarked: _Since he became the only person who could touch you._

    It was cold – the thin summer robes he wore would have to be exchanged for the heavier winter ones in his trunk.  

    Draco shivered – _And then, maybe not._  Being cold was at least a sensation – one that could defeat the flames.  _Not the only thing._

    His boots left sparkling footprints as he made his way to the tree and its sole occupant.  

    _What are you doing Malfoy?_

*

"Well, well, well – what do we have here?" 

Strangely enough, the voice that broke him from his thoughts was not one Harry dreaded hearing.  That particular honour belonged to Ron Weasley – or any of the Weasley brothers.  Possibly the sister as well.  With the threat of the Weasley clan at Hogwarts hanging over his head, Malfoy and his sniping sarcasm did not matter.  _Does anything matter any more?_

    He had thought that Ron and Hermione mattered – but it had been a pretence.  They had helped – but when they left, the ability to pretend that the void within him did not exist departed as well.  

    He had believed Quidditch mattered.  But giving it up had not replaced the void.  

    _People matter.  Lives matter.  Fighting Voldemort matters.  Hating Voldemort matters.  Getting revenge – that matters._  

    "Going deaf as well as - dumb Potter?"  Malfoy smirked as Harry turned to look up at the other boy, "Or are you too good to talk to the –" another smirk, "_Little_ people?"  towering over him as Draco was, there was no mistaking the snipe.

_    Has he always been this obvious in his insults?_ Harry had always credited the Slytherin with a sly and devious intelligence.  Draco Malfoy had, after all, managed to remain in step with their plans – despite a lack of tools like the Marauders' Map and an invisibility cloak.  Yet, when Harry looked up at Draco Malfoy now, he suddenly saw a thin, tall boy with white hair and grey eyes.  _He doesn't have a forked tongue.  Or snake eyes.  He isn't even wearing green._  With the suddenness of rock on a foundation of sand, he felt the enmity he held slip away.  And all that remained was - _Nothing.  _

_    Not even this matters._

   "Well?"  Draco glared – this was, after all the pattern they had evolved to.

Jibe followed by insult – and finally resolvement found in fists and physical violence.  

    Harry stood up slowly, "What do you want, Malfoy?"  he asked quietly, voice flat.

Draco Malfoy seemed briefly taken aback by the lack of aggression in Harry's voice; he rallied with a sneer, "What? The Boy Who Lived actually caring of the opinions of a person not as famous as he?"  he paused, staring fixedly at Harry, "Out trying to save the world again, Potter? Not getting enough attention from your adoring fans lately?"  another pause.

    _Is he _trying_ to start a fight?_

The frown slid on and off the Slytherin's face so quickly that had Harry not suspected its appearance, he would never have seen it.  _He is trying to start a fight._  However, realisation did not mean he understood _why_.  _Malfoy always was rather strange_.  And without the revulsion that had fuelled his interactions with the Slytherin, Harry didn't particularly care.  _If it doesn't matter – why bother?_

    Harry turned to walk back to the castle and his bed.  _I'll have to answer Ron's questions sooner or later._   

"Guess you're not as popular since you killed Diggory."  Malfoy drawled, voice clear in the pre-dawn silence; Harry turned – and threw himself at Draco, snarling.  

    Anger burned through him, kept him moving – hid the void as even Ron and Hermione's company could not.  Nearly drowned out the detached portion of his mind that wondered that _Malfoy_ could somehow make him _care_.

The Slytherin landed hard on the ground, Harry kneeling above him, fist drawn back to break the expression on the other's face.  The scene was familiar – was a repetition of one they had already enacted.__

   "You're going to take that back, Malfoy!"  Harry shouted as he pinned the taller boy's arms against the ground with his knees, half seated on the other's chest, "You're going to take it back!"

Which was when the unwritten script derailed from its predetermined path.

      Draco smiled.  

It was a smile that was, by no means, without malice – and certainly not without anger and hatred.  But it was a smile that also held desperation.  Of all the emotions he had expected to see in Draco Malfoy's face, Harry had never expected desperation to be amongst them.

   He paused, fist still drawn back – wary.  One hand had drawn Draco upwards, fingers clenched around the thin material of his robes.  They were close; closer than he had realised.  The other's breath feathered his cheek.  _What's the trick?_

    Draco leaned forward and kissed him.

      It was – warm.  

      It was - rushed.

      It was – a bizarre knocking of teeth, and lips and wet.  

      It was – a buzzing, empty void of shock and horror and – perhaps (maybe – probably not – possibly but he wasn't thinking of this) a rush of blood that went straight between his legs.  

      _This – this is – definitely – strange –_  Harry thought fuzzily.  He wasn't sure if it was the lack of oxygen or the fact that he was kissing _Draco Malfoy_ – _Being kissed _by _Draco Malfoy -!_ (The distinction was important.)

      It was a void that swallowed even the memory of Voldemort's order to '_kill the spare_'.

      It had been a long time since those words had not repeated endlessly within the silence of the void.  

    Perhaps for that reason alone, Harry remained and allowed his eyes to slowly slid shut, fingers unclenching till he remained there – half kneeling on Draco Malfoy.  .  .

      _Does this matter?_  A tired voice whispered quietly. _Does _this_ matter?_

For the first time, he answered himself: _Does it matter if it doesn't?_

      And finally – no thought at all, only the harshness of their breathing as they broke apart.  Staring at each other with wide eyes.  

      Draco smirked, "It'll be hard –"  he said, rolling his hips slightly beneath Harry's weight (_When did I end up on top of him?_), "But I'm sure I can make a space for you amongst my admirers Potter."  

The words were sure, the tone was as shaken as Harry felt.  Draco leaned forward again –

      Harry jerked away, stared at the other boy – and then ran.  _What did I just do?_

    _What did _Malfoy _just do to me?_  It was an important distinction.

      Draco stared after Harry, still panting – and more than half aroused.  

    _What did you just do?_  The voice sounded vaguely like one of the portraits of his ancestors.    

    _I kissed him._  He touched his lips – they were warm.  _I kissed Harry Potter._

    He could not blame the curse.  Or magic.  Or explain it away as orders from on high or his father.  _I kissed the Boy Who Lived._  

    He could see the black robed figure, growing smaller as it neared the castle.

=====================================================================****

**Author's Note**: At the moment, the official page count for "**Without Question**" is 116 pages.  By no means the longest story I have ever written (actually, it's one of the shortest at the moment, next to "**Lust**" - of course, I'm not including my short once-off tales in the count ^_^).

Meanwhile, this chapter got slipped in between the backlog of assignments I've been working through this past two weeks.  With one more week of university to go followed by the exam period, it's probably the last chapter I'll upload till mid-November.  (~sigh~) Education however, does come first.  On the other hand, "**Lust**" hasn't faired so well - it averages one chapter for every five of "**Without Question**".  And considering that the next chapter of "Lust" is the much anticipated (well, at least I hope so anyway ^_^) PWP scene, I'm fairly sure that my readers over in the anime section are pulling out the katanas and mallets about now.  [eep]

Reply to reviews will be included in the next chapter when I have more time to reply to the questions and comments you have all so kindly written.  (I figured, it's better to put it off till I won't rush my explanations and responses then to do it all now this early in the morning)

In the meantime - a special note to those of you who keep expecting to find "**Without Question**" appearing at _Fictionalley.org_.  To my (intense) embarrassment, I've been told (kindly) to resubmit after I've rewritten and beta'd for grammar, spelling and various other problems.  [Red with embarrassment]

So - nothing will appear at _Fictionalley.org_ till I have time to fix the problems (not to mention _find_ them).

Anyway, this is it from me - see you all in November!

Yours sincerely,

**Tien Riu**

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**


	21. Interlude

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

Reviews greatly appreciated, specifically on characterisation.  The more I deal with non-main characters from the books, the more likely it is that I end up verging towards out-of-characterisation problems.  So early warnings might be nice.  ^_^

Author's note and response to reviews after chapter.  

=====================================================================

**Chapter Nineteen**: Interlude

      Luckily - for the sanity of the professors if nothing else - the first month at Hogwarts passed without further mishap.  Well, other than several incidents later catalogued by one Colin Creevey and his younger brother and published in an amusing student-produced newsletter.  Several copies were promptly confiscated by Professor McGonagall who - along with most of the faculty - spent one productive Sunday morning using it to catch up with the latest gossip.

      One was a well caught picture of Hermione Granger's expression on entering the Library one afternoon to discover that Professor Flitwick had handed out one of his more infamous seventh year assignments.  A hoard of ravenous Ravenclaws had descended onto the Library to denude its shelves the night before.  It was said that the Gryffindor had been in tears (which was a lie - as the picture clearly showed, she had looked angry enough to cast _stupefy_ on the nearby first year Ravenclaw sneaking away with the last copy of '_Ignatius - A Study of Fire_').  

    There were several pictures - mostly from a distance - of Draco Malfoy fulfilling the terms of his punishment after classes as he gradually restored the pegasus herd (thus far, there had been fifteen retrievals, fourteen escapes and the colt was still featherless).  Practical Care of Magical Creatures classes had been cancelled till the herd was recovered in its totality.  Which might have explained _how _the fourteen had escaped but not _why_ six pregnant pegasus mares would prefer the top of the Divinations Tower to the stables.  The Weasley twins had been quick to deny any involvement - almost before Hagrid had started laughing at Sibyll Trelawney's expression.  

      Most of the incidents revolved, of course, around the varied (and many) accidents on the Quidditch Pitch.  The trials for new players had aficionados in second year onwards on edge - and, as expected, in the Infirmary.  The Wronski Feint, at last count, had been attempted a total of thirty-eight times - with thirty-seven and a half injuries.  (The last because the Creevey brothers weren't sure whether it was fair to count Jeffrey Knights one broken leg as a whole injury considering all the others had ended up with multiple fractures)

      It was Severus who noticed - much later - the lack of any mention on the usual Potter-Malfoy fights.  Considering that battles between the two poster-boys for their appropriate Houses had made the first days of the new year so - enlightening - it would have been an understatement to say the faculty had expected outright warfare to be declared by Halloween.  

    However, Harry Potter was most often to be found avoiding the Weasley twins (still attempting to convince him to rejoin Gryffindor's Quidditch Team as Seeker), Ron (out for his blood for giving up the aforementioned position) and Hermione Granger (who, as Ron Weasley was busy running away from first year Hufflepuffs that year, had been roped into an early study schedule for his upcoming O.W.L.s).  Draco Malfoy - in past years usually seen surrounded by his Slytherin peers and sycophants - was avoiding everybody.

    It might have worried Severus - had he not already passed the shoals of worry, the rapids of frantic anxiety and been becalmed in apprehension.  The research - conducted this time with Hermione Granger on stolen time via the time turners - continued, and with one month already gone, the news was neither good nor conclusive. 

      The rest of the school (or at least the rest of the school excepting the first years) might have noticed the sudden lack of coherency in the Granger-Weasley-Potter alliance - or the sudden declaration of peace on the Malfoy-Potter front if not for the 'Slytherin Incident'.

    The Incident (as it was later abbreviated) was catalogued through a series of time-delayed shots been captured by Colin Creevey (who had been serving detention with Professor Severus Snape for attempting to take photos during class) the night most of the fifth year Slytherin class managed to detonate half the old potions storage closet, all of the seventh year potions class room and transfigure the ceiling and walls of half the dungeons transparent.  All by accident - if Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle were to be believed.  Professor Snape, on discovering the destruction gave the entire class (excepting Draco Malfoy who had been out searching for the pegasus herd) detention until after the Christmas holidays.  As it had been, at that stage, the latter end of September, even the Weasley twins were knocked out of contention for the year's longest and harshest detention.  Suffice to also say, Slytherin House's points were reduced to negative marks and the fifth year Slytherin class were seen walking in a large group and avoiding the sixth and seventh year Slytherins (who were, so Colin Creevey quoted with a grin: "Not amused.").  

      Thus, the school year continued, and life at Hogwarts reached as close to a routine as it could.

=====================================================================****

**Author's Note**: Yes, a very short segment.  I originally intended to release this with the next chapter after my exams were over.

However, in light of the shooting that occurred at my university on Monday - and the fact that I desperately need something to take my mind off what happened - I finished "**Interlude**" off and decided to release it now with the review responses.

Advanced apologies in case I miss anybody - I read all the reviews, but I have problems occasionally figuring out precisely which ones I've replied to in previous chapters.  

**deso **- ~embarrased~ Fictionalley.org were right to postpone the 'publishing' of "Without Question".  The brief read-through I've made keeps revealing more and more little problems throughout the piece.  Irregardless of what other stories are like, so long as "Without Question" isn't perfect, it reflects badly that other people have read it.  But thanks for the support anyway.  I won't say that I wasn't slightly hurt that I was kicked back.  Ah well - always room for improvement.  ^_^

**Fanny chan **- admitedly, the **Interlude **is a fairly short read, but I hope this was soon enough for you.  ^_^

**mistykasumi **- apologies for Chapter Seventeen's shortness.  Hopefully Chapter 18 and 19 more than made up for it.  ^_^

**MiniMe **- 0_0 (I'm a fan of your work! ...  The more this happens, the more I'm shocked that authors *I*'m a rabid fan of read my work and actually *like* it...  ~homage to MiniMe ^_^~)

Meanwhile - the Slytherins' reaction to Draco is of significance.  As is most of what happens in the Interlude (though of course, which parts of the Interlude and how significant is another question all together ^_^).  

**AshFarley **- I'll definately take you up on the beta reader offer.  ^_^

In the meantime, you're fairly close to guessing future problems between Harry and Draco.  While avoiding ruining future plot points, I will confirm that Draco is more or less obsessed with Harry.  And that Harry's lack of thought over Draco is a significant point in all their encounters (and isn't just me being lazy and refusing to write overly much through Harry's eyes).  

**Sildstr **- ~grins~ Thanks for reviewing again.

**Bienfoy **- Hey! Welcome back - haven't seen you in ages.  ^_^

**Erika **- Ah, 'The Encounter'.  There's a reason why I haven't mentioned it yet.  It will come up - eventually.  ~grins~

As for the building - well, after the 'Interlude' things start speeding up.  Which is why I'm waiting till after my exams end before I'll start writing again. 

**VeronicaQ** - "Without Question" is like real life? 0_o I would be so lucky.  (~sigh~ Though my life briefly resembled a horrific version of _Weiss Kreuz_ on Monday).

**Kandra **- You'll get to see what happens regarding Harry (not to mention Cho and Draco) and Quidditch in the next chapter.  As for Hermione - ~grins~ she is completely and utterly bogged down in 'homework'.  As is most of the Order students.  You'll probably figure out which of the students are Order-linked simply by their general interest in sleep.  ^-^ 

And - well, Chapter Nineteen brought the Harry/Draco action forward didn't it? ^_^ And as for the non PG-13 dream sequences I had to cut...  Well - maybe one day.  ^_-

**Whisp **- there's something wrong with the summary? ~winces~ I know, it does come across a trifle - puffed-up doesn't it? 

Thanks for pointing out the Chapter Seven problem - I'm trying to find my copy of Chapter Seven so I can re-upload.  ^_^ And also - in regards to the 'Wingardium Leviosa' spell: you're absolutely correct (!).  I read the same message topic just after I wrote the chapter and my first thought was: "Yes! Suits my [censored for plot points]!" ~grins~ This will come up later, but I won't ruin the reason why I'm not saying more by saying more now.  ^_^

**Lizza **- thanks for the bludger-beater points.  ~winces in shame~ No wonder _Fictionalley.org _told me to fix these mistakes!

**Gryph **- Thanks for the review - and the characters are complex? [glows] 

**VenomZ **- would you believe, you're the first Harry Potter fan to put me onto their Favourite Author's list? Thank you.****

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**


	22. October the First Morning

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.**WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (18/01/03)**: Firstly – Happy New Year! Secondly - Yes, this chapter was out previously.No this chapter isn't an exact copy of what was posted previously.After much writing, both **AsheFarley** and I agreed that **Chapter Twenty** required more work.So here we are again – with 20% more Harry/Draco.~grins~

Note – the promised Draco/Harry cookie (sponsored and in thanks to **Gryph** and **CalMnLA**) follows the Author's Note at the end of the chapter.

Author's note and response to reviews after chapter.

Much thanks to **AsheFarley** who helped make this chapter far better than it originally was.Anything you like was at her instigation, everything else is my fault.^_^

TR

=====================================================================

**Chapter Twenty**: October the First - Morning

_He was dreaming again - he had come to recognise the symptoms._

Where is he?__

_He was flying._

_ _

_The horizon ahead; the never-ending patch of green below.  
  
_

_He had almost forgotten what it was like to loose himself in the wind.Flying had once been an escape - a true talent, one that required no additional training._

_Now flying was for excellence, for winning, for honour and glory.Flying was just another required step to playing Quidditch - another way to prove himself.Another way to fail in his father's eyes._

_He wasn't sure when flying had ceased to be important for itself.___

__Two years ago _- a voice whispered in the rush of the breeze._Two years ago when another portrait was added to the collection.

Two years ago when you saw the garden and its clear skies reproduced in blurred paint.__

_But here - where his thoughts were safe, hidden beneath layers upon layers - he could admit the truth.Quidditch was an excuse to fly; flying was for enjoyment._

__A Malfoy does nothing without reason._ _

_His father need never know._

_ _

Where is he?!__

_ _

_In the dream, no matter how far he flew, nothing changed - though all around, the world blurred._

_ _

_The wind ripping at his body - but there was no fear._

_A mere thought, and he was hurtling downwards, eyes closed.He trusted sense alone to dictate when to yank at the broomstick beneath him.In the waking world, he could never do this.The payment of failure was too high for even a Malfoy (_Especially a Malfoy_): pride, position, reputation.His father's wrath._My life._A Malfoy did not die by such ignoble means.His father had never stated as such - he had always taken it was obvious_.

_The wind was gentle as he opened his eyes - so close to the ground, he could have reached out and plucked a white-spangled flower from between the green blades. _

_He dropped - _

__

_- rolling - _

__

_- falling -_

__

_- and landed._

_ _

_The grass was soft; he turned onto his back and breathed in the sweet-green smell of crushed grass and mint._

_Above, stars glared in greater brilliance than the moon.When had it become night?_

_He lay there, glaring at the stars._

__Merlin's balls on a tripod! Where is he?_ _

_ _

_He did not dream for flight and broomsticks - the real world provided both._

_He dreamed for touch.For sensation._For sex!__

_ _

_It started, as it always did - with a touch.Gentle - sensation conducted by proximity._

_He was well trained by now - even in his dreams he recognised the start, arched into it._

_"You again."A hint of humour - that had started several days ago, he wondered what sick part of his mind had stolen aspects he had never witnessed in the waking world, "I'm beginning to wonder why you keep dreaming of me - Malfoy?"_

_He did not answer; speech jarred him awake.It was as if actual conversation was beyond the ability of his dreaming mind to believe._

__It is impossible to believe.Potters and Malfoys are as likely to converse calmly as Weasleys rolling in gold.__Except for that morning -__

_But there were more important things to remember then _that _humiliating incident._

_He wanted - something more than memories._Malfoys do not want.They take.__

_He took._

_ _

_Potter pulled back, outlined in the not-quite-darkness by glowing stars high overhead.A smile quirked his lips - it was one he was familiar with, had seen over the years, usually from the Slytherin table during meals._

_"Eager."Potter whispered, "Who said you could touch me?"_

_The Boy Who Lived pushed him back down, one hand holding his wrists over his head.He lay there, surprised.Aroused._

_"You can't touch me."A breath of air against his ear, black hair feathering his cheeks, "You know the rules."a glimmer of emerald green could be spied 'tween black lashes._

_" - yes -"he hadn't meant to speak._

_The world wavered as if a hand had passed through the liquid of his dreaming mind._

Draco woke up gasping in the peculiar grey light that marked predawn.The room was silent (it always was).The dying embers of last night's fire glowed in the fireplace.He hadn't drawn the curtains last night.

_Bloody hell._He shouldn't have spoken.Should have shut his mouth and lay there pretending that he was thinking of the greater glory of England.That - he had found - was the best way to prolong the dreams for as long as possible.

_Pathetic.Utterly pathetic.If Father knew what you were doing to the Malfoy name in your head - _he shuddered.He had already received five letters full of admonitions tailored to make him cringe for the debacle with the pegasus herd.

Draco glanced down at his body, pale skin wrapped by the twisted blankets._I hate cold showers.He untwisted the blankets, threw them to the floor and lay there, staring up at the top of the bed, shivering slightly from the cold air.After a while, he closed his eyes and, slowly and carefully, slid his hand down.__Where was I?_

_The Quidditch Pitch.And Potter.And grass--and mint._

He didn't think about what he was doing - didn't care to even consider whom it was he was thinking about.

_Touch me.Please - touch me. _

Later, there would be Quidditch practice and breakfast.Later there would be classes.Later, there would be the humiliation of meals taken in isolation.Later - the world would intrude.Till then, in the silence and solitude of his cell, Draco Malfoy allowed himself to pretend that 'later' did not exist.

*

_ _

Ron was in the Common Room playing chess against Hermione.

"Hah!"he exclaimed as he nudged his queen into position and grinned smugly, "Checkmate."

Hermione blinked, "Oh."

"I win."Ron grinned, "That means you lose." 

Hermione nodded, "I guess it does."She said, "I'll have to pay the forfeit." 

Ron nodded, "No studying for a month or -"he leaned back and waited, "The other."

Hermione paused, then smiled as she stood, "Well then it'll have to be - the other."She said as she leaned down to pick up the edge of her robe, "You know how I love studying."And shimmied her shoulders enough that it was evident the buttons holding the robe were undone.

There was a pale flash of white as one shoulder slid clear of black material - _Hang on what's going on here?_

And with that, Ron woke up._What? Where did Hermione go?_

He felt his cheeks go bright red as he realised he had been dreaming._About Hermione - and - oh -_

_Please Merlin - don't let me talk in my sleep._He prayed; the other boys would never let him forget it, and Harry might even tell Hermione and then he would be dead._Or a frog.Charlie said muggle-borns always transfigure you into a frog when they're really annoyed._

The birds were making a racket outside the window - Ron drew the edge of the curtains around his bed aside and stared blearily at the clock on the wall.It declared that the current time was 'Dawn'._Merlin.__Waking up at dawn - got to be something wrong with that._

Ron let the curtain fall back into place and fell back onto the pillow with an inaudible groan as another thought struck him.It was Tuesday and Professor McGonogall had promised a Transfiguration test first thing._I probably should have studied more last night -_ he thought glumly.

His marks had sunk since the start of semester - not enough to warrant howlers from his mother, but enough to make him miss Hermione's reminders about homework, and Harry's lacklustre (but far more constant than Ron's own attempts) study schedule.In previous years, with Hermione's prodding and Harry's determination to do work at least once a week, Ron had done fairly well.If Hermione's insistent warnings didn't spur him into action then just sitting around with Harry would ensure his homework was finished._Flobberworm pus - I wish Harry would stop flooing with the pixies and go back to being the Seeker.Then we could stop arguing._

Ron rolled over and punched his pillow._How can he _not _want to play Quidditch?_

It was October the first - a full month after school had started, and although not much time had passed, Ron felt as if his best friend had changed completely._He doesn't want to fly or play Quidditch and he quit the team - just when I've got a chance to be on it.And we haven't planned any excursions out at night under the cloak or visited Hagrid's for tea once!What happened to him?_

Ron scowled as he rolled over and glared at the curtains that shielded Harry's bed from his view._Nutters he's gone.Completely nutters._

He lay there and wondered how he had managed to sleep through the noise the birds were making every morning._Are they always _this_ loud?_ Hermione probably knew._Hermione's probably already awake and studying or doing something for that extra class of hers._

Something smashed into the window with a muffled '_thump_'.(_You-Know-Who -!_) Ron jerked upright, clawing for his wand.

"Sh't up alre'dy –"Dean Thomas demanded, his voice muffled and half asleep; the sentence ended in a loud snore.

_It was a _pillow_._Ron's heart felt as if it was about to break through his chest and run down the aisle._He threw a pillow at the _window_._The birds stopped singing (for about four seconds, then started up again with increased fervour).

"Crap."The voice this time was Harry's; Ron turned - and wished he could see through the bed curtains, "I'm late."

There were several muffled sounds, as if Harry was pulling on clothes quickly and before Ron could decide whether or not he should speak out and tell Harry he was awake, the door of the dorm room opened and closed._Now where's he going?_

Ron considered leaving his bed and following after his best friend - but he was warm, his heart had stopped pounding and his eyes were getting heavy again.Besides – Harry wasn't very talkative of late._He's gotten more secretive than a Slytherin lately._And Ron was still angry that Harry wasn't telling _him_ (at least) why he had quit Quidditch._ _

Ron rolled over and glowered at the top of his bed – then sighed, feeling guilty for his anger._Some friend I'm being.Harry's got his reasons – he always does.And he'll probably tell me sooner or later._He rolled over again._I bet he's studying again._Harry had been doing that quite a bit lately (every time Ron had seen him in the past month the boy had been surrounded by books and parchment)._I guess Hermione is contagious._

Ron grinned at the last thought and made a mental note to sneak in that joke at some point in the future._She'll probably hex me to kingdom come – but not before I get Colin Creevey to get a picture of the expression on her face._He slid back into sleep; the last thing he remembered thinking was: _I wonder what Hermione was wearing under that robe -?_

*

Harry stood in the shadow of the Gryffindor stand, watching the Slytherin team take to the air with muffled groans and grunts of displeasure.The Slytherin captain – some sixth year Harry vaguely recognised though had never spoken to – seemed to have stolen Oliver Wood's (the recently graduated Gryffindor Quidditch Captain) practise schedules if not ethics.

With grumbles that drifted on the still morning air, the Slytherin team began to execute warm up loops in the air.The flash of silver he noticed, Harry assured himself, came from the uniforms catching the light and not a preternatural awareness of - _Something else._

Harry turned away, staring fixedly to the lake - the direction Hedwig would fly from._Nothing else matters but this._He told himself firmly._Remember that.Flying doesn't matter.Quidditch doesn't matter.Malfoy - doesn't even rate a mention on this list.There are more important things to think about._

The words were becoming a mantra.

A month had passed - and his search for a way to save his friends was no closer to success than it had been since he had begun._What happens if Sirius and Professor Lupin can't help me? What happens then?_

Yet, Harry couldn't stop himself from watching the swoops and arches being formed._I wish Hedwig would hurry up._

When he had told Sirius and Professor Lupin to tell Hedwig to deliver their letters at this hour, he had assumed the pitch would be empty.And it was – usually.But the Slytherins were determined to get an early start – they had given Professor Hootch the details on their new team almost two weeks ago.The other houses – Gryffindor included – had yet to finish the selection process (Ron certainly had spent the past week on tenterhooks).

The breeze, light and cold, seemed too weak when memory insisted on replaying the sensation of ice and frost and a shrill wind that bit into every portion of exposed flesh as he flew – _It doesn't matter._

_It just – it just doesn't._He told himself._It just doesn't._

Harry dragged his gaze away; turning to stare out towards the great lake; a lazy tentacle broke the surface – he supposed the giant squid was doing morning stretches.

_I wish Hedwig would hurry up._

*

Draco Malfoy frowned as he caught sight of a familiar profile half hidden by the bulk of the Gryffindor stands (_Since when has Potter become familiar?_).He shifted uncomfortably on the broom as remembered morning activities bubbled up from his subconscious._What's he doing here anyway?_ A tiny part of him wondered if perhaps Potter had figured out what Draco was doing to him in his dreams._Crazy – there's no way even famous Potty can sneak into somebody else's dreams...__Right?_

"Malfoy!"Anthony Vert – the Slytherin Captain – looped over Draco, quaffle in arm, "Care to join in the skirmishes?"he asked with mock politeness.

The Keeper - a fourth year Draco didn't know (or care to know) guffawed as he flew past overhead: "Leave off Vert - he's probably too busy ogling Potter down there -!"

Draco blinked, turned to yell at the Keeper for his audacity and ducked in time to avoid a bludger, "Go wake Goyle up!"He snarled at Vert, "Maybe if he was doing his job, I could do mine!"

Vert rolled his eyes; Draco glared, meeting his captain's gaze firmly.Eventually the older boy gained a stony expression and looped away to yell at the other two Chasers._Hah._Even in reduced social circumstances, he was still a Malfoy (_A Malfoy is the cause of fear._).Draco smirked and turned his attention back to the figure standing in the lee of the Gryffindor stands.

_He's probably just spying on me - _Draco stopped, reconsidered his thought._Spying on _us_._He corrected._Yes - probably spying on us.I bet those rumours about him quitting as Gryffindor Seeker was so he could steal our training methods without being accused._Feeling smug, Draco shifted on his broom with the intent on dropping straight down at Potter (maybe making him scream like Longbottom – which would make excellent fodder for taunts) and nearly fell off his broom as a fluffy white speeding ball bludgeoned him upside the head.

"Slytherin's snake -!"He swore, "Goyle the point of being the sodding Beater is to hit the blasted things _away _from the team – not _at _them you idiot!"

Goyle, half way down the pitch, turned and looked confused._What a moron._Draco thought in exasperation, _Can't even keep track of where two -_

_Hang on - that wasn't a bludger._

A few seconds of consideration later, he found it again.

'It' was a white owl - fluttering in the air several feet away, amber eyes searching the ground.

_Isn't that Potter's familiar?_ Draco grimaced; _Of course - what other owl would dare hit a wizard? It's _always_ Potter._Below, the boy standing by the stands lifted an arm and glanced up at the owl; Draco was high enough that all he caught sight of was a flash of green amidst black._Bet you ordered it to hit me._He glared at the Gryffindor._After all - normal rules of etiquette don't apply to you, do they?___

The owl circled, white wings catching the first rays of the sun as it rose over the great lake._Sodding Potter.Bet you think you can just go around like that for the rest of your freakishly charmed life don't you? Survive the killing curse.Get Dumbledore to make sure you always win the House Cup.Break all the school rules.Go traipsing through the Forbidden Forest as if it were your backyard.Be a twat and still get all the attention.Disrupt the Dark Lord's plans.Invade my dreams - _

_When isn't it going to be you Potter?_

Draco's grip on his broom tightened till his fingers showed white against the wood.The bird landed with a flurry of feathers, nibbling at its master's ear cheerfully as it extended its foot.

_I'll bet that owl isn't impervious to fire._The thought made him smirk._I'd just bet it isn't..._

Draco floated closer._Burn._He thought._Burn._The pegasus colt had lost its feathers in seconds and that had been accidental – surely intent would speed the flames. _Burn._Burn_!_

Potter deftly removed the parchment bound to his familiar's leg as he murmured something into its ear.(_Come on you stupid bird.Burn already!_)From above, Draco could make out a flash of white as the other boy smiled.

Smoke flickered on the wings.(_Yes -!_)Rising in a thin stream upwards into the air.The owl shrieked, shifting from foot to foot restlessly, wings flapping helplessly.(_Burn – what makes _you _so _special _- burn - burn - burn - burn -!_)

Potter – almost negligently – stroked the owl in a calming motion without once glancing up.

The smoke drifted on the light wind and dissipated; the owl chirped as it nuzzled Potter's face.

Draco stared._How did he -?_

Potter suddenly stiffened – as if in shock – parchment tightly clenched in his hand._Hah! Finally noticed did you?_ Draco smirked as he waited for his enemy to notice the source of his problem.(_Come on you stupid bird – burn!_) Maybe if he concentrated a little bit more -

But Potter threw the bird up into the air and ran off instead, heading back towards the castle – and all without once looking up.

Draco felt his cheeks heat with embarrassed anger. _Ignore me will you –_ and glared after the departing figure._Come on – just a small flash fire.A little bit of heat.A hot foot -_

And was nearly unseated as a bludger smacked into the tail of his broom, "Goyle - you blasted flobberworm pus-born son of a Weasley -"Draco yelped as he searched for the new Slytherin Beater - but by then, it was too late.

*

"Sir?"

Severus Snape, head of Slytherin House, stopped one step into the Great Hall and glared down at Anthony Vert - the sixth year Slytherin who had interrupted him on his way to breakfast.

Anthony Vert was less than pleased that it was he and not some other (luckless idiot) informing Professor Snape on recent events.Given Professor Snape's known favouritism for his own House, Anthony's reaction might have seemed extreme.However, the 'Incident' had proven (not to mention underlined, emphasised and kicked in the head of anybody who disagreed) Severus Snape had neither the time, inclination or patience to deal with student created problems - and any students who called said 'problems' to his attention would be dealt with harshly.Regardless of House (though Slytherin had escaped without deducted marks since the 'Incident').

Given the current socio-political climate beyond Hogwarts' ward-protected grounds, the general topic of choice amongst the senior classes in Slytherin was the precise nature of the Dark Lord's task for their Head-of-House to cause such pain to all involved. 

"Well?"Severus snapped impatiently, "Either speak, Mr Vert or sit and cease blocking the entrance."Anthony couldn't help it - he flinched.

If anything, that seemed to spur the murderous expression in his Head-of-House's eyes.Anthony averted his gaze as only a madman (or a Gryffindor) would have met the Professor's eyes at that point, 

"Sir.It's about – Malfoy."There was a silence that had Anthony wondering if he should abandon Slytherin pride and adopt the sense of his aunt (Lillian Vert, Ravenclaw, class of 1965) and scurry before he ended up as potions ingredients, "Three of my team are in the Infirmary with severe burns."

Severus clenched his jaw - Anthony nearly cowered (but stopped himself - after all he wasn't a Hufflepuff).

"Return to your meal, Vert."the older wizard finally growled as he turned and stalked towards the dungeons, robes whirling around him.

"Sir?"Anthony called hesitantly, "What shall I tell the rest of my team?"

Severus paused but did not turn: "The position of Slytherin Seeker is empty."

_ _

_I wonder if the rumours are true._Anthony thought as he made his way into the Great Hall._Did the Dark Lord actually gift Malfoy with the power of wandless fire?_The possibility seemed - _Absurd._

_Admittedly, any wandless talent is a sign of great power - but to gift an uncontrollable ability? Why not set fire to the Ministry - or better yet, the Minister of Magic? It would certainly be less dangerous - not to mention advance the cause._As it stood, had his father not forewarned Anthony, he would have blamed the spate of fire-related problems inflicted on the Slytherins this year on yet another of the Weasley twins' practical jokes.

_Perhaps Aunt Lillian was less insane than I thought when she questioned the Dark Lord's abilities._(Actually, what Lillian Vert had said was: _"At his height, the Dark Lord was defeated by a baby.Power aside, it does not reflect well on his intelligence."_).At the time, Anthony had agreed with his father that Aunt Lillian spent far too many hours breathing in book-dust.Given current circumstances (_Five firebolts -!_), Anthony was beginning to see the situation in a different light.

_And Quidditch matches haven't even started yet._Anthony thought._There was a reason why Marcus Flint laughed when he told me I was his successor._Morosely, he took his seat.

*

A goblet cantered past (Lee Jordan) chased by several slices of toast (Fred Weasley) and a scroll (Seamus Finnigan's mispronounced charm).Hermione ignored the squeals from the first and second years, impatiently tapping the table with her fingers as she watched the owls swoop through the Great Hall.

"Expecting something, Hermi -"Ron paused to swallow and take another bite of egg and toast, " - 'e?"(Not for the first time Hermione cursed her parents for giving her a four syllable name - if only because of the many ways it could be mangled)

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron."Hermione said distractedly, still watching the ceiling, "And yes – I'm expecting a package from my parents today."

"Wh't?"Ron asked - swallowing mid-word.

More to avoid answering his question (Ron was slow, but he wasn't _stupid_) than out of real interest, Hermione turned from her perusal of the ceiling, "Nothing that important - where's Harry?"

Harry had been missing meals lately - Hermione knew for a fact (she had asked Dobby) that he was sneaking food from the kitchens.He usually attended breakfast however - if only because the second and third years (and by default, the first years) tended to panic and assume that You-Know-Who had attacked (again) if the Boy Who Lived missed every meal that day.

"Don't know."Ron said, "Don't care neither."

"Either."Hermione corrected absentmindedly; Lee Jordan shouted in alarm as a slice of toast (Fred again) and a sausage (don't ask) leaped for his throat.

On the other side of Ron, Neville mentioned that Harry had been spotted on the Quidditch field earlier that morning just before the Slytherin team had come off practise.Ron turned eagerly – all traces of earlier disgruntlement gone.Hermione tuned him out after the first: "Do you think he's going to ask to get back onto the team then?"

As far as Hermione had been able to discern, Ron and Harry were arguing over Harry resigning as the Gryffindor Seeker.For the past three weeks, Ron had vacillated between not speaking to Harry and convincing him to take up the position again.(This being Ron, 'convincing' generally consisted of: "You _can't_ not be the Seeker Harry! Nobody's better than you! And what happens if we loose to that ferret? We'll never hear the end of it - you _have_ to play Harry!")

She had stopped trying to understand - or mediate - after the second week._Boys -!_ (Which really did say it all)

Four owls - each holding one corner of a large box - swooped low at that point to drop their burden onto the table in front of Hermione.It landed with a thump that nearly dislodged a jug of milk into Dean Thomas' lap.("What is it with you loons? Can't I eat _one_ meal without something being spilled on me? Did _all_ of you learn your manners in a pigsty -"at which point he fell back asleep - judiciously aided by Seamus Finnigan's sleep charm and Neville Longbottom's elbow)

"'Cor Hermione – what your parents send you? The kitchen sink?"Ron muttered as he stared at the large box.

Hermione blinked, "It's only supposed to be a book."She said in shock as she picked up a butter knife and started cutting through the tape and string holding the box together.

"Hey – look! It's the ferret's owl."Ron exclaimed; Hermione glanced up just in time to catch sight of a large black-feathered owl flying out of the Great Hall, package dangling from its claws, "Another package of sweets from 'Mummy-dearest' I bet."He glared and added in a disgruntled mutter: "The prat can't even come down to breakfast like the rest of us to pick up his sweets – has to have them delivered to his bed."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Really Ron – Malfoy hasn't spoken to us in over three weeks.Isn't the level of vitriol a bit _much_?"she said in exasperation as she ripped through the last of the tape and flipped open the cover.

And blinked in shock.

There were packets of dried fruits.

There were sugarless sweets.

There were dental hygiene products.

There were clothes.(Hermione's mother had never gotten used to the fact that students generally could only wear underwear beneath robes - although there were _rumours _about some of the Slytherins) 

And (finally) half buried beneath packets of muesli was '_The Big Book of Old Fairy Tales_'.Complete with (to her embarrassment) Bumpkin the Bear.(_Honestly - does she think I'm still _five_?_)

"Blimey."Ron muttered over her shoulder, "Would you look at that –"he paused, when bright red and looked away abruptly.

Hermione – on catching sight of what he had seen – slammed the lid of the box shut.There were probably worse fates than having one of your best friends see the new bra-and-panty sets your mother had sent you – however, at this point, Hermione could not think of one.Not even Bumpkin the Bear was as mortifying.

Meanwhile, Ron was trying to stifle the voice in his head saying: _So _that_'s_ _what she's wearing under her robes.Wonder if they all have that little rose embroidery thing on the edges._

*

Once, when Draco had been much younger he had asked his father what would occur if he failed to fulfil the requirements of being a Malfoy.It had been a foolish question in a time when he had not learned better.

Draco still remembered the dismissal in his father's face as he had replied in a still, quiet voice: "There is no such thing as failure.A Malfoy does not fail.And if one does, then one is not a Malfoy."

And Draco had been returned to the portrait rooms._A Malfoy does not fail._

He was alone – the other students were at breakfast and Professor Snape had left.

The silence seemed to have a weight – surrounding him till it felt as if he was muffled.(_Wrapped – absorbed – suffocated -_) 

It was only his imagination that filled the emptiness with sound; only his mind that made his ears ring with remembered voices.

_"You _cannot _do this -!"_

The Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook lay on the floor – pages ruffled and bent where it had landed.He had thrown it at the wall – at Professor Snape.In anger.It had been a symbol – a sign that he was angry.A socially accepted opening for the Professor to return – to take back everything that had been said.

Except – he doubted that Professor Snape had noticed.The door had already been shut._A Malfoy does not fear others._

_"You will find, Mr Malfoy, that I can do anything I wish.Especially when it concerns your safety and that of your House-mates."Professor Snape said, voice soft, "More so when your reckless behaviour places the task the Dark Lord has given you at risk."_

There was a mirror on the wall - the Defence textbook had nearly dislodged it.

He stared, automatically reaching to smooth down his clothes – to correct any signs of untidiness.(_A Malfoy is perfect._)

_"My Father -"and he had stopped - because he had known (_Known!_) that his father, like the Professor, would remind him that the Dark Lord's desires were far more important than any careless, childish whim._

He had lost the ability to fly.

Banned from flying lessons, removed from the team and warned to avoid matches.The – curse was too powerful.Or his control too weak.(_A Malfoy is perfect._)

The pages of the Defence text fluttered uneasily; he realised he had been staring for far too long.He turned away, stared at the floor – and felt his hands clench into fists almost without conscious thought._This – this is – I _hate _this._

Hate for circumstance was not allowed.Hate was not – perfect._Malfoys dislike.Malfoys destroy.Malfoys earn hatred but they never hate_.

He hated._Father must never know._

_"What happens next – what happens if I can't – stop?"he had not meant the words to be so plaintive._

_Professor Snape had drawn himself up, the unreachable scion of Snape Draco remembered from a childhood spent fighting to remain awake at dinner parties and formal occasions._

_"You would do well to avoid such an eventuality, Mr Malfoy.The – end results would not be...to your liking.Or mine."_

In the mirror, he saw his hands reach for the collar resting in the hollow of his collarbone.It was hidden beneath the thin silk of his robes.

In the mirror, he felt them tighten on the silver metal.

In the mirror, he watched the material crumple.

_"What – what does that mean, Professor Snape?"_

_"It means, Mr Malfoy, that even I cannot stop Professor Dumbledore removing you from Hogwarts should he believe your continual attendance would endanger the lives of his precious Gryffindors."And Professor Snape had sneered – but the familiar taunt had been a warning._

The sound of fabric ripping made him stop.

In the mirror, a strip of material had been torn away.

In his hands, he could see the ruins of his robes.

For several minutes all that was heard in the room was Draco's harsh breathing.

Control - it had been his first lesson.He unclenched his teeth, forced his hands to his side.

A Malfoy was perfect.

_"_Bis peccare in bello non licet_, Draco."Professor Snape had said finally, "Do not make the same mistake twice."And he had paused again and then he had shaken his head, "For the sake of yourself if not your family." _

The silk lay – a puddle of black – on the bare stone floor.

_So._

_I will not fail my first mission.A Malfoy is perfect – ergo, a Malfoy does not fail._

_I won't return to the Manor._

_I won't go back into the portraits._

The dark wood of his wand was smooth under his grasp.In the mirror, his face was pale – it was always pale.(_A Malfoy is perfect._)

"_Reparo._"He murmured; the material floated up and sealed itself back, wrinkles smoothing away.

_I will not fail.I am a Malfoy – and a Malfoy does not fail.A Malfoy is perfect._

Very carefully, he picked up his bag.There were classes.

_Okay._

He would find a solution.A Malfoy was perfect – he would be perfect.

_Okay._

*

"Harry Potter!"Irma Pince snapped, "Breakfast should be eaten in the Great Hall and not -"she stopped as she realised that the fifth year Gryffindor was not, as she had believed, eating a hasty breakfast behind the leather-bound tomes stacked on the table while he finished a last-minute essay.

"I - had some extra research for charms, Madam Pince."Harry said; his green eyes did not quite meet hers.

Madam Pince peered down at the boy, eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Very well.Just remember to be quiet - and be careful with the books." She cast her gaze at the books stacked around the wizard, "They're very fragile."With that, the librarian stalked away - all the while wondering why Filius Flitwick would assign an assignment on ancient protection charms to his fifth year class.

Harry rubbed his eyes and stared at the opened book before him - the words swam in and out of focus._Concentrate._

_This matters._

Professor Lupin's suggestion had narrowed the search down to three books.He had managed to discard the first two based on the impossibility of meeting any of the criteria required for actual casting.The third and last book was the oldest and was a seemingly random collection of charms and ceremonies.It was also the closest Harry had come to a solution in over a month of searching._This matters._He stared at the worn, faded writing before him, forcing himself to concentrate.

It took him several minutes to realise the text was not so much incomprehensible as in a different language.He sighed._Latin, Greek or French?_ At least it wasn't pictograms (Egyptian hieroglyphics), or worse: swirls (where the possibilities ranged from one of the Asian languages to Oggham or _really _good stick figures - which, as far as he could tell, was some Ravenclaw's idea of a joke).

" - _bien-être amité _-"Harry muttered, "Looks French."

He was getting better at researching without Hermione - the dictionaries were already stacked and waiting by his elbow.

*

It was half past eight; Severus bypassed the corridor leading to the Great Hall, all interest in breakfast lost.The potions master swept through the corridors of Hogwarts, ignoring the frightened expressions on the students who caught sight of him (on any other day it might have amused him).

Severus wasn't sure whom he wished to curse more: the Dark Lord Voldemort - or Albus Dumbledore._It would be so much simpler if we could truly be evil bastards without an ounce of common sense.Much easier if we could sweep through the shadows and be human boggarts._

Draco Malfoy was very much Lucius Malfoy's son.It was something any sentient fool who had met both father and son could not miss.Had the resemblance been any clearer, and taken metaphorical form, it would have been the equivalent of a club with a nail in it.

Severus had never realised how that resemblance made it easier to forget that Draco Malfoy was merely fifteen years old: a child aping adults in his fervent recital of views and thoughts.(_Too easy._)

The mask the boy wore (as all Malfoy children did) had slipped – briefly – that morning.

It had been a long time since something other than anger, disdain and pride had slipped through the mask Draco – like all Malfoy children – wore.Long enough that he wondered if it was Lucius he recalled rather than the son.

He had been shocked at the desperation that had briefly been evident before it was rapidly absorbed once more.The control Draco had used reminded him of Lucius Malfoy and all the Malfoy family.The intensity hiding behind the mask – that had not been from the Malfoy family.Severus had been forcefully reminded of an eleven year old Narcissa Du'Lér on the day she had been informed by the Ministry that her father was dead.

Failure had been not palatable – but at least acceptable - when he could stare at (identical) grey eyes and see a fifteen year old Lucius Malfoy brought forward in time.

He had regretted – as all purebloods might – the inevitable loss of the last Malfoy scion to the Dark Lord.After all, Draco was Lucius Malfoy's heir – already bound by his father's idiocy to the wrong side of the war.Failure had been inevitable – and he had already attempted to ease conscience with the reminder of how many _other _lives he would save amongst the boy's peers.

_They should have made _'_avito viret honore' Slytherin's motto._Severus lips twisted._And perhaps one day it will no longer mean death, destruction and inherited insanity.Perhaps one day, it might even be something that we can be proud of – or have learned enough to be ashamed. _

And wasn't that the very root of a problem Albus could never understand? He envied Gryffindors their clear cut choices between absolutes.How, after all, did one explain that the good of the family - the future of the name - was not necessarily a good indicator of what step to take next? How did one explain that everything taught since birth might be wrong? How did one even begin to teach the relativity of 'light' and 'dark' - and the need to define those terms through experience?

_How does one explain to Gryffindors that there is even a _need_?_

Severus stared at the pile of unmarked scrolls sitting on his desk waiting for his attention.He could barely remember reaching his chambers or releasing the wards and locks.A cup of steaming tea waited beside his quill – the house elves knew his habits well.

The liquid scalded the roof of his mouth.

_Give the child – born in servitude, bound in chains of unbreakable steel forged to diamond strength – a 'choice' and when he selects father, blood and family above the unknown – let him freeze with the dementors._

It was the only method Gryffindors knew.

It was almost amusing to realise that after all these years, he still expected life to provide some semblance of fairness._Fairness is a concept Ravenclaws create, Hufflepuffs believe in and Gryffindors uphold.Fairness has never been for Slytherins._

*

Blaise Zabini _had _left early for breakfast.Not because he was hungry (though he had been awake since dawn) but for some time to think.It was a habit of old; he had always found he thought clearest in the early hours of the morning.This time however, even the chill of predawn had not been enough to clear his mind.And now Blaise was late and no closer to an answer.

_What do I do?_

The Zabinis were old blood – not as pure as the Malfoys and the Parkinsons, but pure enough to almost be considered equals._Almost – but not quite.Never – quite._

There had been no question which House he would be sorted into.Zabinis had been Slytherins since Piero Zabini back in 1327._Well – mostly Slytherins._There had been a few Ravenclaws – and one Hufflepuff (much to the embarrassment of all involved) – way back up the family tree.Black sheep the lot of them – unfortunately, that was not the only dark secret the family kept.

_What do I do?_

He wished he was closer to Gregory Goyle.Then at least, he might have had somebody to talk to.But the Goyles were as pure and old magic as the Malfoys – reasons for why Blaise had kept distance from Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe and Draco Malfoy back in first year.It was all right to ally oneself with power after all, but to be friends with power – when one was a Zabini – that was something else entirely.There were _reasons_ why his father was almost thirty years older than his mother – and had never been part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle.

_The Dark Lord's risen – damn Potter and his meddling anyway.The Dark Lord's awake – and the war is coming and – and – _

It was foolish, Blaise knew, to base the entirety of his future on the simple desire to get laid (and perhaps even have children) one day._It's not as if I've been thinking about continuing the family name.I'm fifteen! But – I always thought – maybe one day..._

_I don't want to be like Father.I don't want to wait thirty years before I can have sex! And I _hate _potions and research – which means I'll probably end up working with Crabbe and Goyle.What happens if the Aurors catch me? I'm the last of the Zabinis. .._

Blaise made his way slowly through the empty corridors; most of the other students were already at breakfast._The Dark Lord fell once – and once defeated is as good as twice defeated._

_But – Father says he is very powerful..._

His father had followed in Lucius Malfoy's footsteps during the summer – and though Michael Zabini was not part of the inner circle he was fairly well placed.The Dark Lord had been forgiving despite the fact that the Zabini head of family (_And isn't that the problem? Hah._) had disobeyed him.After all, Michael Zabini had produced only one child – a wizard – and the family was extremely wealthy.

_There is safety in the shadows – isn't that what Mother has always said? And this isn't like Great-Grandfather and Great-Aunt Athena.There isn't anybody who has to die to make sure the family survives.What use is power after all if I die fighting for the wrong side? Besides – what if Potter doesn't get to work and defeat the Dark Lord again?_

Blaise had _plans_.He was going to join the Ministry and with his father pulling strings he would be guaranteed a position in the Department of Trade and Foreign Policy – definitely a good place to be if one wanted to become an ambassador._I was going to have as much power as Draco Malfoy.Have children who would be proud to be Zabini.Get a place in the history books –_

But the Dark Lord was alive – and now, all he could hope for was survival._Damn you to the seven circles of hell, Potter – why did you have to _meddle_?_

"Ah, Mr Zabini – running a little late this morning?"

Blaise jerked and realised he was standing stock still in the middle of the corridor – and in front of the Headmaster no less.The boy blanched.

"Ah –"and found himself speechless; in four years at Hogwarts, Blaise had managed to avoid attracting the complete attention of Professor Dumbledore._Oh buggery._

"I can sympathise."Professor Dumbledore said with a smile, "Although I have found that a lemon drop often aids in energising my mental prowess after a disturbed night."The older wizard pulled out a small velvet bag and proffered its contents to the stunned student, "Lemon drop?"

Blaise took one – it was impolite (and potentially dangerous) to refuse the offerings of powerful wizards, "Thank you sir."

Professor Dumbledore smiled, then tilted his head to one side, staring at Blaise thoughtfully, "Is there – something you wish to discuss with me, Mr Zabini?"

_Can he read minds?_ Blaise stared, swallowed and shook his head, "N-no sir.Nothing at all."He said, and added hastily: "Sir."

"Ah."Professor Dumbledore smiled again, "Well, if you do – feel free to visit me.The password is 'ice mice'."He added in a conspiratorial whisper before walking away – leaving a faint scent of sweet-lemon trailing in the corridor behind him.

Blaise stared after the Headmaster._They say even the Dark Lord was afraid of Albus Dumbledore._

*

"Severus."

It would seem that Monday would remain - as per tradition - a day of unpleasant interruptions for one Severus Snape.The Potions professor glanced at the fireplace in his study - flames now gaily burning a brilliant green that clashed with the red and yellow hat perched on the head bobbing within it.

"What is it, Albus?"Severus snapped.

Albus Dumbledore's head serenely ignored the Potions master's habitual bad mood, "How did your conversation with young Draco Malfoy go?"

Severus had ceased being surprised at how quickly the headmaster caught up with gossip.

"As well as possible."

The head nodded thoughtfully, "That badly then?"eyes twinkled beneath gold-rimmed glasses, "I have always found lemon drops very conducive to good humour."

"Albus.Was there a _point_ to this - dialogue?"Severus bit out.

The head shook sagely, "Always cutting to the point, Severus.Truly - the social graces lends much more to civilisation than you would believe.Any fool after all, can lead an army that conquers the world -"

"But only an enlightened fool would think to do so politely."Severus finished impatiently, "I _have _read Ravenclaw's memoirs."He said with as much patience as he could dredged up, "Albus - the point."

The head smiled, "In which case, please visit my office before lunch – the _item _you requested for your research has come into my possession."

Severus stilled, hands flat on the table._Finally_.Stiffly, he nodded, "I'll be there shortly."

The head nodded sagely and vanished with a pop.Several seconds later, the flames ceased to burn green.

In the silence of his chambers, Severus stared at the flames.

It was October the first.

*

Breakfast was almost over, with the first class of the day (Divinations) due to begin in five minutes, before Harry realised he was running late.He cursed mentally as he stared down at the text he had been slowly translating.It seemed on the edge of divulging something of use.For several moments, he was tempted to skip Divinations and remain in the library - before common sense (and that his absence would spark rumours of his 'prophesied death') returned.

"Can I take out these books, Madam Pince?"Harry asked quietly.

Madam Pince looked up from where she had been reading through several scrolls and glanced at the books, "Two weeks.Be careful.If they come back damaged, you will have detention for a month."She snapped as she pulled out her wand and tapped both books once, murmuring a spell under her breath.

Harry stared across the library - several of the older Ravenclaws were already perusing through the stacks - and caught sight of a flash of silver-blond._What's Malfoy doing in the library?_

Harry had known (and hated) Draco Malfoy for four years; that morning, three weeks ago, he had finally managed to delegate the Slytherin to an annoyance - one easily ignored.Then the 'incident' (a word much overused at Hogwarts of late) had occurred.

_He kissed me._And although Harry did not have much in the way to compare the kiss with, he was fairly sure it had been a good one._Or something like that._..

Frankly, Harry hadn't thought of the kiss overly much.Between avoiding Fred and George (Quidditch), Hermione (O.W.L.s revision) and Ron (Quidditch - and complaining about having to avoid Hufflepuff girls with pictures for some odd reason), Draco Malfoy was fairly low on his list of priorities._Frankly, I don't want to think about it._He wasn't even sure if it was 'right' for boys to kiss other boys._Flitwick didn't cover this last year - at least I'm fairly sure he didn't.Then again, after the bit about the 'contraceptive flobberworms' we were all laughing too hard to pay attention._

He had fallen back on the failsafe method of avoidance.Given that the Gryffindors and Slytherins shared almost every class together (including, for some strange reason, both Defence against the Dark Arts and Divinations - both single-House classes in lower years), physically avoiding Draco Malfoy was impossible (except in Divinations - which the Slytherin did not take - and Arithmancy - which, despite two years of Hermione's pleading, Harry still refused to attempt).But since Malfoy seemed to have adopted the same approach, Harry had happily sat on the opposite end of any classroom he had to share with the Slytherin, and together, they avoided any actual direct interaction.

Besides, there had been more important things to keep him occupied then Malfoy - _Like making sure Ron and Hermione stay safe_.Compared to that, nothing else mattered; Harry had almost forgotten about the - kiss.

_Yes.You just keep saying that, maybe it'll come true._A voice (that sounded remarkably like Ron at his worse) muttered in the back of his head.Harry shifted uncomfortably._Leave it to Malfoy to make everything hard just by being around._He thought, then flushed and ducked his head as he heard his own thoughts.

"Mr Potter."Madam Pince repeated; Harry looked up, "Your books."She said, "And remember - two weeks."  
Harry nodded, gathered the books and left hastily, suddenly eager to get to Divinations.

Draco Malfoy watched Harry Potter leave the library in silence. 

_Potter._It was _always_ Potter.

*

Severus Snape stalked through the corridors of Hogwarts, robes flaring behind him as he made his way to the Headmaster's office.The gargoyle standing guard stared back at him impassively – and Severus knew that assigning smugness to the blank, stone stare was anthropomorphology at its worse.Dealing with Gryffindors always brought out his more illogical tendencies.

_It would have been better if Slytherins truly had no honour._Severus thought grimly, '_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_'..._And now - for a trait we are reviled for being without, we die, generation by generation.And all for loyalty to a vision twisted and warped._

The bitterness might have stolen his voice had he any remaining after so many years._Draco Malfoy is going to die.And there is nothing I can do to halt the inevitable._

Yet, he was reminded as he stood before the gargoyle that Lucius Malfoy had never shown as much passion in his life as Draco did for flying.It had been Narcissa Du'Lér who had the intensity that brought out true genius rather than mere intelligence.

_Is that enough?_

The potions master was not sure – perhaps that was all that could be asked.

The grandfather clock that stood at the end of the corridor chimed the luncheon hour.

The password to enter the Headmaster's office was 'ice mice'.

=====================================================================

**Author's Note (18/01/03)**: If you found it irritating to read Chapter Twenty all over again just to get the extra parts – imagine how **AsheFarley** felt when I dumped her with 61 pages (Chapters twenty, twenty-one and twenty-two respectively).In any case, I still stand by what I said in the last author's note (below) – Chapter Twenty, without doubt, was the hardest chapter to write thus far.Why? Well – read Chapter Twenty-One and Chapter Twenty-Two when they appear, and you'll understand why.

Once more: thanks to **AsheFarley **(wonderful, wonderful beta) who worked tirelessly (and through Christmas no less 0_0) to beta. So if you enjoyed the Draco dream scene, the Harry moments and almost all of the Severus Snape thoughts - thenyou should thank her.They're there because she noted that beta copy #1 was slightly less than what it could be.(And then worked with me to make sure beta copy #8, #9 and #10 produced this)^_^

Note – as always: anybody who can translate the French and Latin in this chapter will receive an early post of Chapter Twenty-One.But – that's for later.By the way – I've noticed that some people hate having a response to reviews.So – as the response to reviews are meant for the readers, do you want me to continue including a response at the end of each chapter? 

In any case, response to reviews:

**Artanis, bthatcher2002, Caty, Deso, northen_star_light, Newbie, LanaMariah, Lizza, Lostgirl, JaneyLane**: thanks for the review.Much appreciated.^_^

**Terra** - Harry actually didn't know what 'plural' meant.Do remember that there aren't any English classes at Hogwarts - and it has been five years since he was in primary school.

Then again - maybe he just wanted to exasperate Hermione.^_^

**CalMnLa **and **Gryph **– as promised, the Draco/Harry cookie.It follows the author's notes.Hope you enjoy it.^_^

For those who are interested: rainshadow effect is "where precipitation amounts drop significantly on the leeward side of a mountain" (**CalMnLa**) and **Gryph** created an interesting metaphor, matching the definition to events in **Chapter Twenty **– especially in regards to Draco and his situation.

Congratulations to **blue**, **kbk **and **mjwhittker **for getting the Latin and French correct - in fact, as per normal (-_-;) **blue**'s response made me realise I had gotten the French wrong.So much for four years learning the language.-_-;**mjwittker** - apologies for not sending you an early version of the chapter – I couldn't find your email.

"_dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_" is (as **kbk **noticed) a direct quote from 'Dulce et Decorum Est', a poem by Wilfred Owen, a poet during WWI.The line was a maxim indoctrinated into English schoolboys during that period and the generic translation stands as: "it is good and proper to die for one's country".Owen used the line in the following manner: "_The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est/ Pro patria mori_".If anybody wants to read the poem, it can be found here: 

http://www.skyehawke.com/owen.html

Don't mind the counter – I'm just sort of curious to see how many people actually read "**Without Question**".

**Kate **- (as I recall from the previous version of **Chapter Twenty**) Snape was refering to Slytherin as the homeland of all Slytherins and he was responding to the quotation not actually translating it. ^_^ 

**Sammy**: ~grins~ That's the exact sensation I was going for.The war is out there, but the children are strangely disconnected to it - they can see the shadow, they can hear of it or even hear it, but the "rain" (so to speak) has not started yet.However, **Chapter Twenty** is the turn point of everything so expect a gradual darkening and more plot-intensive scenes in the future.

**Gryph**: at the moment, Harry isn't so much in denial as feeling that there are more important things than his rivalry with Draco.

**Mistkasumi**: Thanks for the review and I look forward to finding out you managed to be the first to review it (again -_-;).^_^

**MiniMe**: ~laughter~ Discworld meets Hogwarts round 1.Meanwhile - with the amount of potential melodrama floating around in the story, if the characters didn't have a sense of the absurd (or at least were occasionally absurd) we'd either all be in tears constantly reading (and writing) the story or everybody would loose interest.After all, melodrama isn't THAT interesting is it? ^-^

Meanwhile - maybe you should write a Discword/Harry Potter crossover.~grins~ The little exerpt in the reviews is fantastic.

**bluevanilla**: What is the UofA? I go to a university in Australia if that's what you meant and - well...Basically, an honours student walked into class with several semi-automatics and opened fire.He was stopped when the tutor and a man from outside the class jumped him and held him down.It was - not a good thing.Australia is - peaceful.We haven't had this sort of thing happen before - and my university isn't in a city, we're in a relatively peaceful outer-city suburb.The students go there to study and occasionally go up to the city to protest some new occurence.Things like this don't happen - and...Yes.Didn't help that it was the last week before assignments and exams either.

**Death**: hopefully **Chapter Twenty-One, Twenty-Two **and** Twenty-Three** will whet your appetite.Appetisers, so to speak.^_^

**tnf**: Narcissa will be reappearing in **Chapter Twenty-Two**.Promise.^_^

** **

As always, anybody who can (correctly ^_^) translate Latin (or French - for this chapter) phrases used in this chapter will receive **Chapter Twenty-One** early.Your choice if you want to receive the beta-copies or the actual final copy of the draft.

(Previous response to reviews)

**J **- Ron is most definitely doing something - it's just not very obvious at the moment.^_^ 

**Fanny-chan, Sabrina, Lady Ron, BThatcher2002, kbk, Artanis** - thanks for reviewing! ^_^ More specifically: (**kbk**) It's amazing the insights fairy tales, mythology and urban legends lend to our idea of humanity.Also, long before I started reading HP fanfics, I use to cringe slightly at how Harry and company saw, treated and stereotyped the Slytherins.Being seen as evil simply because of where you're 'sorted' (or born, or raised, or taught or even wear, eat and sound) strikes me as too prejudiced.Considering that all the books thus far have attempted to reinforce the thought: 'he who is beautiful and nice is not necessarily good, and he who is ugly, horrible and sarcastic is not necessarily evil', I wouldn't be surprised if Rowlings writes a mental-bender at some point in the next three books.(**Lady Ron**) was that enough snogging for you? ~grins~ (**Fanny-chan**) Apologies for how long Chapter Twenty took, exams were a killer this year. -_-;

**Sildstr/Deso**: I provoke blind loyalty? Awesome! (inner-Draco says: 'Bwahahah! Onwards evil minions!' ~grins~) 

**Kandra**: Harry is going out of his way to play a low profile of late isn't he? Attending meals and classes to make sure 'rumours of his death/kidnapping by Lord Voldemort' be greatly exaggerated.And if I ever do put up the uncensored version of the dream sequences, I will email you, promise.^_-

**mjwhittker**: ~grins~ Thanks for the compliment.And yes, Harry has been a tad too depressed/depressing of late.That changes (though Harry won't actually notice ^_^) though teenagers as a whole I've found seem to find it far too easy to angst for a very long time (~-_-;;~ -- speaks from far too much experience).

**Maya**: [blink blink] If you happen to be *the* **Maya** of '**Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ...rat?**' and '**Underwater Light**' fame I'll be forced to do my 'worship the author' dance again.^_^ In the meantime, thanks for reviewing.I agree - 'Omega' (prologue) keeps irking my fingers to rewrite (except every time I do, it gets worse).Ah well, maybe **AsheFarley** can help here ^_^.

**MiniMe**: Heh - writing Severus Snape is both fun and nerve-wracking.Occasionally I hit upon the most wonderful balance of snarkiness, sarcasm and biting humour that create the perfect one-liners.And then, sometimes I don't.Figures that the one character I have the most problems staying in character for is the one I have to write through so often.^-^

I'm glad that you found yourself urged to write - you're right, it's the best compliment a writer can receive.(Well other than being published and offered money and screaming fanboys...Alright, I'd settle for the fanboys - but only if they were over the age of eighteen, over six foot and unlikely to throw items of underwear at me ^_^).

And: yes! A fellow Pratchet fan! I'd say something funny at this point, but my mind just went blank.~argh~ ^_^

**Mistykasumi **- Thanks for the 'wow'.^_^ And yes, there was a shooting at my university campus the Monday I posted 'Interlude'.

If I missed anybody, apologies.I'm still having a little trouble keeping track of where I left off responding.^_^

And now – the cookie.

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**The scenario: Draco and Harry, with Hermione and Ron, are currently living in muggle London because of a reason related closely to Voldemort's return.News has just trickled through that Sirius Black is missing in action - presumed dead.Hermione and Ron haven't been able to get Harry to stop being depressed (after all, they were only the first friends he ever had - what does that count next to a boyfriend/lover who was his enemy for the past four and a half years?).It is currently Draco's turn to attempt 'something'.Continue for parody-fluff.**

[**The Cookie Files**]: It's a Magical Life__

Draco found him sitting in the dusty, ash-blackened square of concrete, grass and one stunted tree that served as a garden.Walking swiftly - still unused to the unfamiliar rustle of denim - Draco stood over the Boy Who Lived for several seconds before sliding down beside him.The trunk of the tree was rough through the cotton of his shirt - it was probably going to leave dirt tracks on his back.

They sat in a silence broken only by the rumble of trucks as they roared past beyond the brick wall and the occasional '_clang clang ding_' of the trains as it passed.

"Don't you dare say that it wasn't my fault."Harry whispered harshly, "Don't _you _of all of them say that _I_ shouldn't blame myself."He spat out.

Draco leaned back, staring thoughtfully at the grass between his legs before he spoke, "Of course it's your fault."

"Because it - what?"Harry jerked, staring wide eyed at Draco.

"Of course it's your fault."Draco repeated calmly, "Let's face it - without you, Cedric Diggory would be alive right now.Probably stuck in the same situation as everybody else, but alive.And Sirius Black - he'd probably still be a wanted criminal - but he'd be alive.In Azkaban most like, but alive.And Snape - well, he'd probably still be your favourite greasy git, but he'd be feeling healthier about it."Draco went on calmly; Harry was shocked into silence, Draco didn't look at the other boy, plucking at the grass as if there was nothing more important to do.

"How - but -"

"Did you expect me to be sympathetic?"Draco asked, lifting his head and casting an amused glance at the dark haired boy, "You don't need sympathy - everybody in your life is giving it to you in spades.Oh, look - _poor_ Harry Potter.An orphan don't you know.Forced to live with _muggles_ you know.No parents.Have the most evil wizard this side of Grindelwald after him.Such a pity.Probably die young saving the world.Let's all _fawn_ over him."he continued mockingly, "Truth is - it's all your fault.Diggory wouldn't be dead.Your godfather wouldn't be dead and Snape wouldn't be suffering under Madam Pomfrey's care.Of course, if you hadn't done what you did Voldemort would have been in control these past fifteen years.After all, the distinction between being a _sane _tyrant and an _insane _meglomaniac is rather slim _anyway_."

"Are you supposed to be cheering me up?"Harry asked finally, exasperated, "Because with this sort of cheering -"

"You aren't depressed and thinking over Black's death any more are you?"Draco retorted, "If you want to laugh go watch the clowns.Malfoys don't do jokes."he rose, turning as if to walk away - a slender boy whose hair seemed impossibly white even in the cold, grey light.

"Draco - wait."Harry said, "I -"he stopped.

Draco stood there, staring down at Harry for several seconds, when he next spoke, his voice was low - flippancy missing for the first time since Harry had convinced him there really was nowhere else to run, "Anything they - or I - can say changes nothing, Potter.Diggory is dead.Black is dead."Harry flinched and Draco continued mercilessly, "Voldemort is alive - and insane.And Snape - will always be the potions master you all love to hate.Magic can't bring back the dead - it can't change the past."

"I know."

"Then shut up about it.Nothing you do or say will ever change what has happened.Any other sensible _normal_ twat would have gotten over it by now.I'm sure Black didn't run around like a headless chook these past few years because he wanted the _exercise_."Draco snapped, at Harry's stare he elucidated: "Make it bloody.Make it include gore.Let there be much misery and gnashing of teeth.In other words, stop being such a melodramatic prat and go get revenge you idiot."He added with a sardonic grin, "Or we are living in positively primitive circumstances for nothing."

"Still can't figure out how to use the stereo system?"

"Shut up.Malfoys don't use remote controls."

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**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**


	23. October the First Afternoon

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

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**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**IMPORTANT**: **Chapter Twenty **('October the First – Morning') was **_rewritten and reposted _**last week.  You have to reread **Chapter Twenty **or certain things occuring in **Chapter Twenty-One** **_will not make sense_**.  

I apologise if you hate rereading previous chapters – however, if it's any concilliation, there is quite a bit more Harry/Draco moments in the rewritten **Chapter Twenty**.  Additionally, there's a Harry/Draco cookie ([**Cookie Files**]: It's a Magical Life) at the end of **Chapter Twenty **sponsored by **Gryph** and **CalMnLa**.  

Again – this chapter brought to you with much help from **AsheFarley** who has gone above and beyond what a beta needs to do.  Anything you like was at her instigation, everything else is my fault.  ^_^

TR

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**Chapter Twenty-One**: October the First - Afternoon

      It was habit that had Severus pause in the ante-chamber just outside Albus Dumbledore's office but paranoia made him listen with the concentration of one who had been saved many a time by such precautions.  He needn't have bothered – Sirius Black's voice carried clearly through the door.

    " - even Fudge won't be able to hide his head in the sand when the Continent starts gearing up for war."  Black was saying, "By this time next month, there will be more attention on Voldermort -"  Severus was almost impressed; Black had barely choked on the Dark Lord's name, " - than rats in a sewer."

   "The Arithmantic formulas correlate with our presuppositions."  Remus Lupin added, voice softer than Black, "The attacks should start sometime between Christmas and mid-February."  

There was a rustle of parchment before Albus Dumbledore spoke: "You seem concerned, Remus."

The long pause that followed was broken by Black's impatient: "Come on Moony - whatever it is, it can't be that bad!"  

   "I have little talent for Divinations."  Lupin finally said, "But I had hoped that perhaps in combination with Arithmancy there would be some useful effect -"  he broke off, then began again, "The results from the Arithmantic formulas seemed _too _conclusive.  Far too easy an answer."

   "Isn't that good?"  Black asked in confusion; Severus resisted the urge to groan in exasperation and continued eavesdropping.

   "I'm not the only Arithmantic student Hogwarts has produced, Sirius."  Lupin pointed out patiently, "The point, sir, is that each time I attempted a technique combined with Divinations, the result _stated_ You-Know-Who would attack _before _the end of Novemeber."

There was silence - then a burst of derisive laughter.

   "Oh come on Moony - _Divinations_.  Honestly.  Remember when we predicted snow in _July _and _still_ passed?"  Black exclaimed in exasperation.

   "I – but –"  Lupin paused, then said, voice now firm with certainty, "You're probably right."  

   "I have often found that pixies pollinating magical plants create many interesting and useful hybrids."  Albus Dumbledore interjected; there was a sudden silence, "However, the Lemon-Drop Tree Professor Sprout so kindly attempted to create last summer still has not flowered."  There was a pause as the two younger wizards regained their mental footing (Severus snorted mentally, fifteen years of almost daily contact with the Headmaster had given him some immunity to the innanity Albus Dumbledore could sometimes spout), then: "Narcissa Malfoy stated that the winter Solstice would mark the end of any opportunity Severus might have to save Draco Malfoy."  

   "Highly suspicious."  Black grunted, "A Malfoy - giving out information for free."

   "But not improbable - a mother's love after all, has achieved wondrous things before."  Albus noted, "However - we cannot base the safety of our future on speculation.  Be it derived from Arithmantic formulas or Divination techniques."  Another pause filled with the rustle of parchment and Fawkes' squawks, "Nor, as much as our esteemed Minister of Magic would wish, the safety of those beyond the walls and wards of Hogwarts."  He paused, then: "Severus."

    The door swung open - giving Severus no more than a brief moment to draw his robes and composure around him before he stalked into the room.

   "Still hiding behind doors and sticking your large nose into other people's business, Snape?"  Sirius Black turned in his chair, "Never change do you?"  he sneered.

Severus ignored him - as he did the proffered confectionery - and took the chair that scuttled forward and scooted into place before the large table serving as the Headmaster's desk.  His seat, Severus noted, was next to Remus Lupin rather than Sirius Black.  It would seem that even Albus' optimism that all beings could peacefully co-exist had been exhausted when it came to Severus Snape and Sirius Black's long standing dislike (_Virulent hatred._) for each other.

   "Sirius."  Remus Lupin hissed quietly, before adding politely: "Severus."

   "Lupin.  Headmaster."  Severus nodded, and glared as he added tightly: "Black."  Severus ignored the soft sigh that escaped Remus Lupin.

    "Now why did I call you here, Severus?"  Albus asked thoughtfully, "Ah yes - the request for Remus.  I am getting forgetful these days aren't I?"  he smiled, beard bobbing slightly as eyes twinkled from beneath gold rimmed glasses, "Something about earrings and Wards wasn't it?"

Sirius Black laughed, "So desperate for feminine company you're dressing up like one, Snape?"

    Severus gritted his teeth.  

    Despite the fact that he was well into his third decade -

    Despite the fact that he was a man grown -

    Despite the fact that playing one-man-up was a tiresome, _immature_ act expected _only_ from Gryffindors - 

    Despite every curse, hex and Unforgivable he knew, there was something to be said for jumping onto Black and pummelling till somebody dragged him off.  

    Remus Lupin coughed, inadvertently (or perhaps not) breaking the angry tension between the two wizards he was seated between, "Sirius."     

   "Yes mutt - heel."  Severus muttered.

Black jerked forward from his chair and came up short against Lupin's arm.

   "Severus.  Please."  Remus Lupin said, voice even and patient, "You asked me to Hogwarts for a reason.  Given the – circumstances it had to be of some importance.  Surely that takes precedence?"

Severus gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the smirk on Sirius Black's face, "Lupin - your field of study after Hogwarts included Wards."

Remus nodded in understanding (Severus had always acknowledged that for a Gryffindor, Remus Lupin was unusually bright), "You want me to study the -"  he paused, "The report mentioned an earring - you wish me to study the earring Narcissa Malfoy left for her son?"  

   "Yes."  Severus said shortly, glancing to the Headmaster, "Albus -I would prefer any study on the earring to take place beneath the personal shields in my chambers.  The discussion should not be held where it could be easily - overheard."  he shot a condescending glare towards Black (_Not to mention in a place where a Dark Arts created item won't light up a beacon for every Death Eater and his bloody flute to come investigate._) before adding, "Perhaps you might mention the - alternate plans with the mutt?"

Black growled and Lupin muttered something that sounded remarkably like 'children'.

Albus waved a hand, "Of course.  Of course.  Indeed, it is a fortuitous happenstance.  I would like the opportunity to speak privately with Sirius about Harry."  He paused, and patted down his robes, "Now where did I leave those notes?"  

Sirius frowned, standing up in alarm, "What's happened to Harry?"

Albus, now rummaging through his desk, glanced up with a slight smile, "Nothing to be overly worried on, Sirius.  However, I believe you should see Professor Flitwick's report for yourself - now wherever did I put it?"  the Headmaster paused, frowning, "Oh dear.  I am afraid I left them by my bedside table.  I shall be back in a moment."  With that the Headmaster swept out of the office through a side door that led to his private quarters.

    A silence descended upon the office; Remus Lupin - on realising he was currently seated between two glaring wizards – sighed, rubbed his eyes and muttered something that sounded vaguely like: "Hephaistos grant me patience -"  before standing and flinging a handful of floo powder into the waiting fireplace, "Severus.  If you would do the honours?"  

Severus glared at Black one last time, then snapped out: "Severus Snape's chambers."  

The flames turned green and Lupin gratefully stepped through.  Severus flung a handful of powder into the fire to maintain the connection and made to follow after the werewolf.  At which stage Sirius Black grabbed him by the collar of his robes, effectively yanking him backwards.

    "Touch me again and Order or not, I will personally ensure you spend the rest of your meaningless life singing soprano, Black."  Severus growled, hand clenched around his wand as he struggled to free himself from the grip.

Twelve years in Azkaban might have diminished Sirius Black's ability with a wand - but it had not weakened his strength.  Severus found it particularly galling to realise he was still physically weaker than Sirius Black at thirty-five.  (_Evidently, teaching hormone-ridden teenagers is _not _comparable to chewing fleas in Azkaban._)

    "I don't care what favours Remus owes you for the Wolfsbane Potion, Snape,"  Black said, breath ruffling Severus' hair where it met his high collar, "Touch one hair on his head and I swear I will -"  

   "Gentlemen."  Albus coughed politely, "Is there a problem?"

Sirius dropped Severus back down onto the ground - face flushing red (though from embarrassment of getting caught or anger at being stopped was something Severus did not bother analysing).

   "Severus?"  Albus asked.

Severus shot a smug smile at Black - no matter the past and certain events three years ago, Albus Dumbledore took his word now as equal to the once-favoured Gryffindor.  (_Turn about is indeed, fair - vengeance._)

   "Fine, Headmaster."  He said, then, glancing back at Black, added in a low hiss: "_Entertaining_ as I find your pathetic posturings, I have more important things to do than pander to your – _astounding _– wit."  Then, as Black's expression darkened, he added snidely: "In other words, Black - mark your -"  a disdainful lift of his head, " - territory in your own time."  With that, the Potions master walked into the fireplace - leaving a fuming Sirius Black and a bemused (and exasperated) Headmaster.

*

      Harry was met with silence as he walked into the Great Hall for lunch.  Uneasily, he slid into the empty seat opposite Hermione.  The Weasley twins were staring at him – something that did not bode well for continued wholeness of body (unless one's body happened to be canary-shaped).  

    Hermione was glaring down the table where Dean and Seamus were whispering frantically – and past them where Lavender and Parvati were giggling again.  (_They seemed to do that a lot_.)  Harry helped himself to one of the sandwiches stacked on the platters before him and wondered if anybody would notice if he dug out the books from the library.  He tuned out the other students as best he could and started to eat.  _Maybe if I hurry I can slip out and get back to the library without anybody noticing -_

    "Harry!"  Harry flinched as Ron slid into the seat next to his and slung an arm around his shoulder, "I don't know what you did but - mate! It was bloody brilliant whatever it was!"  

    "Don't swear, Ron!"  Hermione reproved while Harry stared, wide eyed at Ron - who had still been refusing to talk to Harry as of five minutes ago during Transfigurations. 

    "Three cheers for Harry Potter!"  Seamus Finnigan called and the table echoed with yells and excited shouts - drawing the attention of the rest of the Great Hall.

   "Bloody brilliant!"  Ron repeated with a grin, "Had us worried for a while, Harry - shouldn't have doubted you for a moment though." 

   "Ronald Weasley - what _are _you talking about?"  Hermione snapped as Harry remained silent. 

   "The twins couldn't believe it themselves -"  Ron stopped as he caught Hermione's impatient stare, "What – Harry didn't tell you?"  he glanced at Harry, "You didn't tell her?"

   "Tell her what?"  twin voices chorused behind Harry – who groaned inwardly as he turned.

The Weasley twins were grinning down at him (_When did they move?_).

   "About the Slytherin team."  Ron said, "I can't believe Harry didn't tell you Hermione."  He glared suspiciously at Harry.

   "I would have!"  Harry protested, then paused, shaking his head, "Except I don't know either.  What's going on?"

There was a pause then –

   "Draco Malfoy –"  Ron began.

   "Anthony Vert – the Slytherin Captain –"  that was Fred (or George).

   " – opened trials for a new Slytherin Seeker –"  which would make it George who spoke next (or Fred, given the alternative).

   " – got taken off the Slytherin team by Snape –"  Ron again

   " – because Malfoy –"

   "Stop it all of you!"  Hermione snapped; there was a sudden silence, "Honestly.  What do you do? Practise talking in tandem during the holidays?"  she said almost to herself before directing a determined glare at one of the twins, "George Weasley – tell us what happened."

   "Draco Malfoy's been kicked off the Slytherin Quidditch Team."  The twin in question drawled, "And I'm Fred not George."

Hermione shrugged, tossing her head irritatedly, "If the two of you are going to dress in identical robes, with identical hair styles, and not only go around together all the time but talk as if you were one person instead of two – then expect to be mistaken for the same person."  She snapped.  

Ron chortled, "She's got a point there -"  he said and caught the bread roll George (or maybe it was Fred) threw before it could hit him in the face.

   "Our own brother –"  Fred began only to pause, "Ah another time.  Anyway – the rumours are that Snape pulled Malfoy off the team himself for burning five Firebolts."  

("Can you imagine it? _Five_ Firebolts – destroyed just like that -!"  Ron exclaimed; the boys all shuddered at the thought)

   "What did he do? Take out his wand and cast '_incendio_'?"  Hermione demanded, frowning, "Use a match? A lighter? Muggle devices."  The last when she caught sight of the confused expression on the Weasleys' faces.

George paused, "Well – no, from what Terry Bones – the Ravenclaws were next on the pitch this morning – said, the brooms just burst into flames.  Awfully bad luck since three of the brooms -"

   " - were still being used."  Fred finished, and turned his gaze to Harry, "We have the pitch tomorrow at five.  We'll expect you there."  He said; there was a sudden silence on the Gryffindor table, "Well Harry?"  

    _Yes._

    It felt as if every student in the Great Hall was watching him.

    _Yes -_ it was on the tip of his tongue.  _Yes.  Yes._

    Beyond the Gryffindor table he could see a a sea of black robes abbreviated by yellow bands.  

    "Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw have to train new seekers."  Harry muttered, standing abruptly, "Gryffindor can as well."  He pushed past the Weasley twins to leave the Great Hall, appetite well and truly dead.

"I just don't get it."  Ron muttered, "How can he not want to play Quidditch?"

Hermione stared, exasperated at Ron, "Sometimes I think I'm surrounded by idiots.  Then I realise no, I'm not – I'm surrounded by adolescent _males_."  She said (Lavender and Parvati, further down the table, burst into laughter and shouted: "Here, here!"), "Don't you _get_ it?"

   "Get what?"  Ron demanded.

   "Harry didn't give up Quidditch because he doesn't want to play –"  she paused to glare Ron into silence, " – he gave up being Seeker because of –"  Hermione glanced around then lowered her voice, "Because of Cedric Diggory.  Hufflepuff doesn't have a seeker because Cedric Diggory is _dead_ – and Harry still feels guilty."

Ron frowned, "Oh."  He said finally, a breath of air echoed by George.

Fred however, continued frowning, "Diggory would have graduated the end of last year.  Hufflepuff would have had to replace him _anyway_.  They're probably more prepared to replace their Seeker than any of us are."  

Hermione sighed and let her head drop to the table with a muttered: "_Boys_."

   "No really – I don't get it."  Fred protested, "Why would Harry feel guilty for Cedric Diggory and Hufflepuff having to replace their Seeker this year_?_ Ow! Hey why'd you hit me for?"  this last directed to his twin who had smacked him up top the head, "That bloody well hurt you bastard -"

   "You're an idiot Fred."  George said, rolling his eyes, and with one hand, dragged his twin brother away, talking in a low voice as he did.

    "Hey Hermione -?"  Ron asked quietly.

   "What?"  Hermione asked, not moving from where she was still resting her head on the table.

   "I know why Harry's guilty about Cedric Diggory dying – but I don't quite get what that had to do with quitting Quidditch."  Ron whispered.

There was a pause, "Oh – for goodness sake."  But the normal exasperated bite was missing from the oft' used phrase, "Equal footing Ron."

   "Equal footing?"

   "This way, all the teams are just as likely to win given the experience of their Seekers."  

There was a pause, then, "But _experience _has nothing to do with a good Seeker.  It's all about _speed _and _luck_."  

Hermione merely sighed and didn't move.

    There was another pause then: "Hermione?"

   "What is it Ron?"

   "You going to sit up? Only – people are staring at you."  

*

      Across the Great Hall, unseen by the other students who were all watching the Entertainment (provided, as per usual, by the Gryffindors), Pansy Parkinson glanced nervously to several sixth year Slytherins then shifted closer to Gregory Goyle.

   "All right, Pansy?"  Gregory rumbled quietly as he dug into his lunch (haggis).  

   "I - can we go somewhere quiet, Greg?"  Pansy whispered into Gregory's ear, "I - need to tell you something."  

Gregory paused, fork in mouth as he looked at her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully beneath the thick line of his eyebrows, "What about?"  he finally asked after he had swallowed.

   "Something I found - yesterday.  During detention."  Pansy whispered, she shot another glance up the table.

Most of the Slytherins at lunch were watching the Gryffindor table – except that is for Blaise Zabini who was staring down at his plate as if it held all known answers to questions asked in Professor McGonagall's latest test.

   "Okay."  Gregory finally rumbled, finishing the last of his lunch and gulping down a goblet of pumpkin juice quickly.

   "Oh - that's just disgusting."  Pansy muttered, "Merlin, Greg - at least wipe your mouth."  She added, making a face.

    They left the Great Hall together, never noticing that both Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape were watching them from the head table.

*

Hermione appeared in the Gryffindor Common Room four hours prior to entering it.  It was empty - classes had yet to break for lunch, after all.  

    _If I didn't loathe time turners so much I'd _hate _them._  She thought tiredly; almost unconsciously, her hands tightened on the book she was holding.  She glanced at the worn covers and felt the exhaustion ebb.  _This is it.  _

_    Everything will make sense today – I just know it._

    Fingers stained with ink gently traced the faded gold lettering, '_The Big Book of Old Fairy Tales'.  .  ._  

    She rubbed fiercely at her eyes (_The_ _smoke from the fireplace.  _She assured herself) and threw the floo powder at the flames with more force than necessary. 

      Hermione stepped out of the fireplace with neither fanfare nor warning.  It was, after all a full month into the school year and she had been walking out of this particular fireplace every single day of that month.  

    _Well, three weeks, four days of the month.  .  .  Oh god Ron is right; I'm becoming pedantic._  Or at least he might have said had he been speaking to her of more things than candy, classes and Quidditch.  _Or knew what 'pedantic' meant._  Hermione added as she pulled out the book she wanted and dropped her bag in the shadows by the fireplace.

    It wasn't that she didn't _like_ talking to Ron (even if it was just about candy, classes, Quidditch and on occasion his obsession with Professor Kettleburn), it was that - just once - she wished that - _Oh why not go right out and say it? I'm just like Parvati and Lavender.  Wanting meaningful conversations and confidences from a _boy_.  As if that's possible till they start thinking _without _their - broomsticks._

    Sometimes Hermione wondered if she would find out about Harry defeating Voldemort when Ron was telling the story in the common room.  _It's always 'boy stuff' to them.  They never tell me anything important - not until I make them.  Some friends._   

    _Oh great.  And here comes the tears._  

    Hermione swiped at her eyes irritatedly - she really hated this time of the month.  (_Regular as clockwork, Mum said.  Be glad, Mum said.  Can plan around it, Mum said.  Why I can't be like Lavender and Parvati - they're so irregular they get one or two during the year and I bet they don't have _thirty-hour_ days!_)

    It was at this point that the mist of self-indulgent melancholy hovering over Hermione's mind was disrupted by the realisation that she was standing on the flagstones before Professor Snape's fireplace.  

    There was a cough, and on looking up, she found herself staring at not only Professor Snape but also Professor Lupin.  

    "Are you all right, Miss Granger?"  Remus Lupin asked quietly from where he was standing at the large table Hermione and Severus had been using as a base for their research, "You seem a trifle -"  he paused, choosing his words with care, "Over-wrought."

*

    It was half an hour after classes had ended for the day and Ron Weasley was stalking Professor Kensington Kettleburn.  

    Or, to be more precise, Ron was seated in a (conveniently) concealed alcove several metres from the entrance of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, listening with a well cast 'eavesdropping' charm he had found in Hermione's textbooks.  (_And she says I never study._)

    Kensington Kettleburn was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher - and a more unassuming, quiet and mild professor had yet to teach at Hogwarts.  The past month of Defence classes had mostly involved the students being told to take notes from their textbooks in preparation for the fortnightly quizzes.  For the most part, Kettleburn spent classes seated at his desk seemingly meditating (or sleeping - Ron hadn't ever been able to tell which).  He seemed to get headaches quite a bit as well - or at least did so in most of the morning classes.

    All very dubious behaviour as far as Ron was concerned (though in all honesty he had to admit that Professor Kettleburn being a Defence teacher was reason enough for suspicion).  Which was why he was currently sitting outside the classroom (and the Professor's office) attempting to hear what devious plot You-Know-Who's spy intended for Hogwarts that year.

    What he _did_ eventually hear (after another half hour had passed and he had fallen into a doze) was several loud explosions, a couple of thumps - some oaths that would have made Hagrid blush - then: "Bugger it for a bottle of pixies and a harpoon."

    And finally, silence.  _Wonder what happened in there._  It hadn't seemed particularly - _Well - dangerous._  

    Ron frowned, staring fixedly at the door of the Defence classroom and wondering if Hermione knew any spells that might help somebody see through walls.  _And after I find out what Kettleburn's doing, maybe I could use it on the girls' -_ he cut off the thought rapidly, going bright red.  (_Oh she's going to kill me if she ever figures out what I'm thinking._)

   "Hey look - it's 'ickle Ronniekins!"  a voice boomed suddenly in his ear.

Ron jumped, fell out of the alcove and would have dashed his head on the stone floor had both his brothers not hastily grabbed the back of his robes and hauled him upright.

   "We've been looking _everywhere_ for you Ron!"  a nearly identical voice boomed.

Ron winced (at which point he realised that the eavesdropping charm was still in place and chanted a hasty: "_Finite incantatum._") and rubbed his ears as he glared at his twin older brothers, "What do you two want?"

Fred grinned, "What us? Want anything?"

   "Perish the thought!"  George declared; Ron stared with growing apprehension at his brothers (_I'm not getting out of this without getting turned into a canary am I?_).

   "Oh wait -"  Fred began.

   " - we do want something!"  George said, "Wouldn't want a biscuit would you?"  he dug some crumbling baked goods from his pockets; Ron shook his head and tried to back away.

   "I like that - I really do."  Fred said, shaking his head, "Our own little brother - not trusting us -"

Ron struggled against the hands holding him, found he couldn't budge and sighed (_So much for saving the world today._), "Fine - fine.  Just tell me what I'll turn into before I eat it okay?"  Ron said.

   "Oh - we don't want you to -"  Fred began.

   "- eat anything."  George finished, "Well not _really_."

   "It's about the Quidditch team -"  Fred went on, then glanced at George when he didn't cut in.

   "Thought you'd be the best one to tell him - being Captain and all."  George said, shrugging.

   "I - did I get Keeper?"  Ron asked nervously - the trials for Keeper had been intense and the only other contender for Keeper had saved only twelve goals less than Ron.

The new team list would be put onto the Gryffindor Common Room notice board after dinner but Ron knew that Fred had finished up last night because George had been planning pranks with Lee Jordan.  _Being the younger Weasley brother has to be good for _something_ right?_ Ron thought as he stared anxiously at his older brothers.

   "Congratulations."  George grinned.

Ron stared in shock, "Really?"

   "Really."  George said, ruffling Ron's hair (he had to reach up as Ron was now taller than him), "Ickle Ronniekins is _all_ grown up."  He added; Ron made a face.

   "Just as soon as Harry stops being insane."  Fred added.

   "What?"  Ron blinked, surprised enough not to attempt to correct the mess George had made of his hair.

   "We need you to play Seeker in Harry's place."  George said.

   "Hey!"  Fred protested, "I was supposed to tell him."  

   "You took too long."  George shrugged, "So how about it, Ron?"

Ron blinked, "What?"

   "Being Seeker for Gryffindor -"  George said.

   "- since the second-string Keeper is almost as good as you."  Fred broke in (Ron winced).

   "But there's nobody who can fly Seeker – "  George added.

   "Except Harry Potter – the bastard."  Fred muttered.

Without looking, George smacked the back of Fred's head ("Ow! Hey – what was that for –"), " - better than you at the moment."

Ron stared, thoughts of Professor Kettleburn completely thrown out of his mind, "Me? Fly Seeker?"  he said finally, "Like Charlie?"

The twins nodded in unison.

   "Well without the crash landing in the bathroom while Sara Lockhart was getting changed."  Fred added with a grin, "Not that we'd stop you – but Hermione sounds like she wouldn't accept loosing control of your broomstick as an excuse –"

George smacked Fred again ("Ow! Stop that!"), "Honestly – can't take you anywhere these days."  He said before adding with a broad smile, "Besides, if Ron really wanted to see Hermione starkers he'd be better off casting a no-stone hex –"

_(No-stone hex – never thought of that -! Argh!_) Ron knew he was turning bright red and hastily (before the twins could notice and possibly start teasing him about it – or worse, tell Hermione) ducked his head.

   "Which reminds me - we've got to get Lee back for turning Katie's hair pink -"  Fred began.  

   " - before we could."  George finished. 

Fred, almost serious, added, as the two were about to walk down the corridor: "Practise starts at seven tomorrow morning but you turn up at six.  There's only another two weeks before the first match –"

As they walked away, George groaned: "You're getting as bad as Wood -! My own twin – possessed by the Quidditch tyrant –"

   "Oh shut up –"  Fred smacked George – who ducked.

Squabbling with the ease of years of practise, the twins wandered down the corridor, leaving their younger brother standing alone.

    It was several seconds later that Ron realised he had forgotten something very important.

   "Oh shit.  Even if they let me borrow one of their Cleansweeps –"  the youngest Weasley son moaned, "I'm going to be the slowest Seeker this side of the Channel – that's what the headlines are going to say -"

    Professor Kensington Kettleburn, on walking out of his office some minutes later, was surprised to discover a student morosely sitting on the floor in the corridor outside his door muttering something about sweeping.    

   "Don't worry lad,"  he proclaimed, awkwardly patting the boy (a fifth year - probably a Weasley judging by the sheer amount of red on him) on the head, "The House Elves sweep the corridors very regularly."  And satisfied that he had done his job, walked on down the corridor (albeit a trifle off-balanced with a tendency to walk as if the floor was made of water).

    Ron stared after the Defence teacher.  _Where does Dumbledore keep _finding _them?_

*

      The conversation Hermione was barely paying any attention to had been going on for over three hours.  An example of the general tone went thus:

"Please pass me the extract of duck.  The wards on this are definitely blood based."  A pause as Professor Lupin took several notes before tapping his wand once more on the earring (this followed by a flash of light and a vast chattering noise).

Professor Snape snapped irritatedly in what passed as a response: "I had already worked that out you misbegotten cur! Have you _nothing_ to say resembling some semblance of _use_?"

Followed by silence, then a calm: "The extract of duck?" 

Hermione was fast gaining the opinion that Professor Lupin was slightly _too_ placid and mild-mannered.  _I just can't imagine him as part of the infamous Marauders Ron's brothers prattle on about.  Obviously people change and mature as they grow older (Or I'm going to have do something to Ron -!) but surely not _that _much._

    Hermione sighed as she turned the page and continued taking notes.  She didn't understand _anything _the two professors were saying - and hadn't since they started.  Frankly she didn't really care.  Perhaps last year she might have found time to do extra research in an effort to understand Wards (which sounded both advanced and arcane) but - _Thirty hour days are _more_ than enough._  Hermione thought firmly as she glanced at the page before her and jotted the last of her notes onto the scroll.

   "Finished."  She announced, drying the ink with a wave of her wand, "Professor -"

    And stopped when she realised that Professor Snape was hovering right behind her.  Long, thin fingers picked up '_The Big Book of Old Fairy Tales_' so quickly that Hermione had to duck to avoid being poked in the eye by a ragged corner.  

   "Lupin."  Severus said, "Does this look familiar to you?"  he dumped the book (still open) into Remus' hands and stalked to one of the bookshelves (now seriously denuded by weeks of research) lining the room.

Hermione frowned - the cover illustration of the story was pretty but surely not particularly significant.

   "Evidently, when working with Gryffindors,"  Severus Snape said derisively, "Even simple sentences task mental prowess."  He rolled his eyes and sneered as he added in a mockingly patient tone: "Does the illustration seem _familiar_, Lupin?"  

The potions professor had retrieved a book from the bookshelf; it was, Hermione noted, brightly coloured with a dancing chicken on the cover.  

    Severus opened the book and handed it to Hermione - a move echoed by Professor Lupin as he placed '_The Big Book of Old Fairy Tales_' down before her.

   "It is - strange."  Remus said to Severus.

Severus snorted, "How useful an analysis." 

    At which point the conversation devolved once more into insults and technical terms completely lost on Hermione.  She turned her attention instead to the open books before her.  

    There were of course differences – if the image were actually identical then it would have been a matter of plagerism – but they were minute.  From the picture alone, it would seem that both books were retelling the same story.  

    She stared at '_The Big Book of Old Fairy Tales_'.  The battered edges bore the marks of chubby, childish hands, there were folded corners and the colours were faded from years of exposure to sunlight.  It seemed out of place here, surrounded by dusty tomes on magical creatures, spells, rites, chants and other arcane knowledge (though not, she noted, as out of place as a book decorated with dancing chickens).  There was nothing in this stalwart reminder of her childhood that she did not know by heart.  _So – the answer is in Professor Snape's –_ _chicken book._

    Slowly, Hermione flipped the pages (the chickens were an ongoing motive, she noticed), scanning the lines (it was a children's book - later she would wonder why it had been amongst Professor Snape's collection).  

    _This - this is a completely different story_.  

    _What does this all mean?_ The essay she had written in first year had been on the legend that Godric Gryffindor had transformed into a dragon during a fight with Salazar Slytherin.  Hermione had thought it was a metaphor (the Gryffindor founder had not been an animagus, his biography stated it very clearly) on Gryffindor's prowess in battle.  Or even how Godric Gryffindor stood for and valued the traits of nobility, honour and bravery - all symbols often associated with dragons.  After tracing the origins of the quotation most often associated with the story, she had been sure it was a modified version of an older legend.  She had also assumed – perhaps too hastily – that the legend was now only found in the muggle world.  Professor Snape's 'chicken book' (as the part of her she blamed on Ron, had already labelled it) wasn't another version of the story - despite the similar illustrations.  _It's - a rite of some sort.  Not even a proper fairy tale.  _

_    "_It's a description of a rite."  Hermione hadn't even noticed she said the words outloud till she realised both the professors had ceased their conversation and turned back to her.

    "The Rite of the Dragon."  Severus corrected - as mildly as Hermione had ever known him to be.   

   "Is it what happened to Draco Malfoy?"  Hermione asked as she picked up the 'chicken book' and pointed to the central figure (a man with a small dragon bursting forth from his chest). 

It would make a very strange sort of sense if Draco Malfoy had gained the ability of fire because somebody had put a small dragon inside of him.   

   "The Rite of the Dragon is a creation-myth. Describing the conception of the first dragons to be precise."  Professor Lupin explained quietly, "It has long been considered completely implausible."

   "Suffice to state, Miss Granger, that the theory of magic not only does not support the Rite's existence, it disproves it."  Severus said curtly.  

   "Oh."  Hermione said softly, "So - this is another -"  she paused, fighting the urge of cry, " - dead end."  (_I will _not_ be one of those girls who cries at the drop of a hat.  I won't!_) 

   "Succinctly put - for once - Granger."  Severus snapped. 

Hermione drew in a deep breath.  _Hermione Granger - if you cry and act like a - a - a Barbie-totting, My Little Pony playing _girl_ - I will never talk to you again!_ She swore to herself quietly, _Now.  Assume that this is a significant revelation.  Where is the link that changes data into information? _

   "Perhaps it is merely a coincidence?"  Remus was saying, "It is, after all, just an illustration."

    "I'm shocked - a statement from the werewolf that is of actual use."  Severus muttered; Remus ignored the snarky comment. 

    It was at this point that Hermione looked up.  And then the fifth year Order student smiled.

    " - '_and yet evidence disproves your astounding logical train of thought_'."  Hermione quoted, "Your earring, Professor Lupin."

    The two professors turned; the earring was glowing.

    Remus Lupin frowned, then, cupping the earring in his hand, tapped it with his wand.  There was a rush of noise: an incomprehensible sound resembling a thousand voices whispering very fast and very softly.  This time, it was followed by the appearance of symbols - slowly drawing themselves into the air around the earring.  The lines shone with colours: blue, silver, green - and (most disturbingly) blood red.  

    There was a pause then: "I believe it is time we contacted Narcissa Malfoy."  Remus said, staring at the symbols, "These are - unusual."

   "To correct your evident misconception Lupin, the habit of understating the obvious - "  Severus bit out into the silence, " - is neither endearing nor engendering of confidence."  

=====================================================================

**Author's Note**: 

Firstly – unashamed promotion: 

I highly recomment **MissMoppet**'s "**Faster Mudblood! Kill! Kill!**" (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=870133).  Go.  Read.  You won't regret it.  (And as added insentive – it's Harry/Draco slash.  Complete with cowboyhat!Harry and in-a-strip-club!Draco)

Secondly - I needed a diversion while I waited for the beta reading of "**Without Question**" to be finished.  "**Crossing Bridges**" (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1195394) is a time turner story set in the days of the Marauders.  Working against the cliché, rather than Hermione (everybody's favourite bookworm and time-traveller) it's Remus Lupin who is sent back to the past on a desperate mission to destroy Voldemort.  The catch: Remus has to inhabit the body of his eleven year old past self.  Well – yes, whoever heard of a pre-pubescent assassin? A future slash story (just as soon as they hit an age that isn't so – young) set in an alternate universe.  My first (and only) expedition into the Marauders timeline.

Well – since nobody mentioned if they prefered a response to reviews or not appended at the end of a chapter, I'll continue (especially as I consider it impolite not to acknowledge reviews).  

**switchknife**: 0_0 Or else what? (sorry, always wanted to say that ^_^)

**barbara thatcher/bthatcher**: glad you enjoyed the rewritten Chapter Twenty.  Thanks for the review.  ^_^

**tnf**: Narcissa appears in Chapter Twenty-Two (as I'm sure you've realised by now).  Do note - the chapter numbering accorded by FF.net is off by two numbers (prologue and that author's note I inserted).  

~grins~ I believe the plural of 'genius' is 'geniuses' - though some part of me insists it's 'genii' (which is completely wrong, 'genii' is the plural of 'genie' ^_^).

In the meantime, I'm glad you liked Blaise Zabini - every time I write Slytherins I find myself forced to view the world in a completely different way.  Fandom parodies normally make fun of the fact that writers occasionally insist that there are only four or five students per year level in some houses (at least according to the names listed in the books).  However, given that the years surrounding Harry's birth (1976 - 1982) would have placed those children (babies) and their parents in the absolute height of the first Voldemort War, I've always found it highly probable that there really could be as little as ten students per year level, per house.  

Given that sort of start, and the fact that many witches and wizards seem to have believed that Voldemort was not truly gone, my assumption has always been that growing up Slytherin - whether in a Death Eater family or not - would have been very much like growing up in a war zone.  The Slytherin students have reasons for being cynical, suspicious and wary.  

**AsheFarley**: thought I should answer this here rather than in a mail.  ^_^ Yes, everything is coming together (wait till you see **Chapter Twenty-Two** and **Twenty-Three** ~grins~).  I wouldn't call it 'epic' however.  Not unless it runs into sixty chapters like **Anna**'s "**Roman Holiday**" (http://witchfics.org/anna).  And - I doubt anybody would use a yahoolist run soley by me...  It would be unmentionably fantastic to have my own - but I won't get one unless there's a sudden surge in requests (well, more than one anyway ^_^).

=====================================================================

**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

- note, edited 24th January, 2003 for slight formatting errors.


	24. October the First Evening

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**Author's Note: [_Very_ ashamed plea] **

Feeling a trifle unloved and unread at the moment – I don't write for reviews but I do wish that people would leave some criticism and comments occasionally.  I'm assuming the hatred for Chapter Twenty-One was  unanimously (which is a pity because I thought it rather nice and **AsheFarley** insists it's still her favourite chapter).  If that's the case with **Chapter Twenty-Two** I'd be rather obliged if somebody told me what you all found so distasteful.  At the very least, if it was non-plot related, I could change it.  

**[/End V.A.P]**

Once more, much thanks, gratuitious praise and fan-like worship to **AsheFarley** who beta'd this chapter through the eight or so revisions it went through.  And before you go 'oh, so we can blame her for the time we had to wait for this chapter' – she beta'd six of those revisions in less than three days.  One letter I got was half an hour before her test.  So yes – [bows to **AsheFarley**].  I am forever indebted to my beta readers (though **Briar Rose** has nothing to do with "Without Question", this does go to her as well).  They really do go above and beyond what a volunteer position requires.  Once more – anything you like was probably at her instigation.  Everything else is my fault.  

Usual response to reviews appended to end of chapter.

Tien Riu

=====================================================================

**Chapter Twenty-Two**: October the First - Evening

      Gregory Goyle, fifth year Slytherin student, was adamant: "Tell Snape."

    His unlikely partner in the conversation was Pansy Parkinson, who looked at him thoughtfully – it was rare for Greg to be so certain in anything, "Telling Snape is absolutely the last thing we should do."  She said finally, tone firm.

   "Snape would know what to do."  Greg insisted.

    Pansy glanced around - the corridor was filled with students streaming towards dinner – and nervously grabbed Greg by his robes, pulling him into a disused alcove off the corridor.  

   "Snape only knows because he is part of the – of You-Know – of the inner circle."  Pansy hissed, voice lowered till Greg had to lean down to hear her, "Everybody knows that."  She paused, considering what she had just said, "Besides, Draco confirmed the rumours and we all know how deep he is."

   "Draco's digging a hole?"  Greg grunted.

Pansy rolled her eyes and continued, ignoring the question, "We can't tell him."

   "Why not?"  to anybody else, Greg's question might have seemed the epitome of stupidity - Pansy however, had grown used to Greg's idiosyncratic intelligence.

Gregory Goyle surpassed even Draco Malfoy for his ability to ask the wrong question at the right time.  It might have gained him many enemies had he not been the sole heir to the Goyle name and family fortune - not to mention capable of fully utilising his (well-earned) reputation for being slow, daft and stupid.  

   "Don't you get it, Greg?"  Pansy demanded in a hissed whisper, eyes flicking over the boy's shoulder to check for eavesdroppers, "This is our way out.  This is our - our - our _letter to Hogwarts_!"  

   "Letter to Hogwarts?"

   "A saying -"

   "Never heard it before."

   "I just made it up."  Pansy snapped, "Would you stop interrupting and listen?"  she shuffled him further into the alcove in an effort to ensure they would not be seen or heard without forewarning, "Do you remember what it was like when the letter came?"

   "Parents were proud they didn't need to buy me a place at Durmstrang."  Greg rumbled thoughtfully, "Prouder that I got accepted at Hogwarts because it's the best school in Europe."  He added.

   "Precisely."  Pansy said, "Nobody gets a letter from Hogwarts and refuses - well except mudbloods but they don't count."  She sneered more out of habit than true derision, "Better than Durmstrang - _safer_ than Durmstrang."  

    Greg nodded in agreement, "Too easy to die at Durmstrang."  He said softly, "Before last year anyway."

   "Stupid Potter - he never thinks how his adventures make it more dangerous for the rest of us."  Pansy said, mouth twisting before she realised she had been steered off topic once more, "I don't care what your parents thought, Greg - I bet you were thinking the same thing I was when you got your letter."  She grabbed his head in her hands, forcing him to look into her eyes, "I bet you were thinking: _'The only wizard You-Know-Who feared was Albus Dumbledore_'.  I bet you thought that so long as Professor Dumbledore was headmaster of Hogwarts, we would be safe.  No dark wizards and Unforgivables for _this _generation of Slytherins."  Her lips curled, "More fool us - he wouldn't wave his wand if we were on fire.  Not if a Gryffindor was behind the hex."

    Greg shook free of her grasp, "People are people."  He rumbled, words dull - it was an oft' repeated ethos, one Pansy had learned from her mother (_"People are people - and power is power.  Use or be used - that is the only difference._").

    "But Dumbledore doesn't think that way."  Pansy snapped in a method of explanation, "Everything is absolutes to Gryffindors.  There's no grey in their world."  _Lucky delusional idiots._  "Galleons to knuts Albus Dumbledore has a plan up his tacky sleeves to save his precious Gryffindors.  And he probably has places ready for the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as well.  Somewhere safe for when the Dark Lord starts attacking and the killings begin again."  

   "No use to us.  We're Slytherins."  Greg commented.

   "Precisely.  The second Voldemort starts attacking, they'll kick us Slytherins out."  Pansy said, "And maybe it'll be different for you and Blaise and all the boys - but Millicent and I might as well give up on becoming proper witches when the fighting breaks out.  Female Death Eaters just don't exist.  The only thing _he _thinks we're good for is as breeders and servants."  

   "Not smart enough to rise in the ranks.  End up like Father - killer and mindless help."  Greg said (Pansy was vaguely impressed - she hadn't expected Greg to realise that fact till after it was too late), "Don't know about Crabbe but the Zabinis drop a squib every generation - known fact."  Greg laughed as he added, "Blaise better get laid now - Dark Lord don't let squib-makers breed."  He paused, then flushed as he realised what he had said and to whom, "Sorry."  

They were Slytherins but despite rumours stating otherwise (spread by Gryffindors no doubt), this did not mean they were completely without manners.  They were _purebloods _after all.

   "Forget it."  Pansy brushed off; she grimaced, "Merlin.  Why couldn't this have happened last year? Everything was fine last year."  She crossed her arms restlessly, "Before Lord Malfoy did whatever it was he did to Draco."  It had been the greatest blow to her plans - to _all _their plans.

    Draco Malfoy - _the_ Malfoy Dragon - had been their ticket to safety.  The only one amongst their secular group who would be guaranteed a place in the inner circle.  There had been an unspoken agreement: in return for their support and alliance, he would protect their interests amongst the old rank.  When the Dark Lord had brought the old rank out of retirement, the agreement had become all the more important.  She had been so smug at the end of last year, believing that her future was safe regardless of who won _this_ time.  

    _Stupid adults and their stupid strategies - never thinking about how it affects us.  _Nobody_ ever thinks about how it affects us._

    There were times when Pansy wished her upbringing had involved several lessons on cursing.  She had always admired Draco's ability to swear fluently without the slightest twinge of guilt or break in accent.  __

    Pansy sighed and shook away her thoughts – there was no time left to be angry or bitter, not if she wanted to survive: "We can't tell Snape.  We have to talk to -"  she glanced over his shoulder; the flow of students had slowed - sure sign that dinner was about to start, "We have to tell Dumbledore."

   "Why?"

   "Dumbledore won't trust us.  It's probably their House motto - 'never trust Slytherins'."  Pansy said (sneered), "We have to prove that we do not want to take their preconceived place for us in this war.  We have to show that we aren't spies or turncoats - that we _really_ want sanctuary.  And the only way to do that is by paying our way in."

    Greg nodded solemnly - he (they) understood what it was to pay for everything you wanted in life, "Enough for both of us?"  he asked quietly.

    Pansy paused, looking uncertain as she stared up at the larger boy.  She started to speak, then stopped.  _It isn't.  It isn't enough._  The information they (she) had found last night during detention was important - but not enough to ensure safe passage for two.  _Only me.  Only me._  

    It was the Slytherin way; when the time came for escape, only the strongest survived.  

    _There aren't any Goyles after Greg.  Only cousins off a cadet branch of the family.  He'll die before this is over.  Or be dragged under _then_ die.  Not to mention that there's no guarantee the Dark Lord will win – he didn't _last _time after all_.  

    Pansy stared at Greg helplessly; he met her gaze with neither reproach nor hope.  They fell into step as they left the alcove.

    It was understood; they were Slytherins.  _Only Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs believe in loyalty and honour._  They entered the Great Hall side by side, heads held high as befitted purebloods.  _It's the fact that we're not Gryffindors - and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws - that has us in this quandary._  

    Pansy looked up to the High Table, automatically counting the professors who were attending dinner.  Given the conversation Pansy had just shared with Greg, it seemed a sign of fortune that the Slytherin head of house was missing. 

    She slipped her hand into Greg's large palm (warm and sweaty) as they sat down in their usual seats on the far end of the Slytherin table.  _Maybe sometimes it's better to pretend we're Gryffindors.  Or Ravenclaws.  Or even Hufflepuffs.  Maybe sometimes it's better to pretend we're stupid idiots without an inch of common sense.  Maybe sometimes, even if there is no such thing as honour and loyalty – we should pretend that there is._

    It was an intriguing concept; _Besides - I need somebody to protect my back around all those wand-waving dolts._  Pansy leaned into Greg till her mouth brushed his ear, "It will be enough."  She whispered, "I'll make sure it's enough."

    Safely hidden beneath the edge of the table, Greg tightened his hand around hers briefly.  

    It was understood - they were Slytherins.

*

"Anybody seen Hermione?"  Ron asked Parvati as he slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table.

Parvati shrugged, "Don't know.  Maybe she's with Dean?"  she suggested with a grin.

    Ron flushed red (and redder still as Parvati giggled and whispered to Lavender) and turned to glare at Neville, "Why's Dean making Hermione skip meals then?"  he demanded. 

Neville blinked, "Ah - Dean's next to Seamus, Ron.  Next to you I mean.  I'm Neville.  Neville Longbottom?"  He added, "You all right Ron? Only - you're acting strangely."

    Ron, however, had already turned to stare at where (as Neville had said) Dean and Seamus were seated, cheerfully discussing handball (or maybe it was football - a muggle sport in any case).

   "If Dean's there -"  he began, " - where's Hermione?"  

    There was hooting from further down the table, "Lost your lady love, Ronniekins?"  Fred called down.

   "Shut up Fred."  Ron muttered, shoving away from the table.

   "You leaving already, Ron?"  Dean asked, looking up from his conversation.

   "Yeah -"

   "If you see Harry could you ask him if I can borrow his notes for Charms? Hermione's already lent hers to Susan Bones from Hufflepuff and he was taking as many notes that class as she was -"

    Ron blocked out the rest of Dean's request as he looked up and down the table.  Harry was missing from dinner (again).  It wasn't unusual - Harry had been skipping meals lately.  (_All the time._  A voice that sounded an awful lot like Hermione remarked.  _And it's about time you noticed._)  This was the first time Hermione had been missing as well.

    _Oh._

      Seamus and Dean shared a bewildered glance as they watched Ron leave the table.

   "Ron's acting strange."  Dean remarked finally.

   "He's as blarney as a bat with a crush on Snape."  Seamus corrected, "Not to mention mad as a hatter and completely off his tool."

    Neville was frowning, "Not like Ron to miss eating seconds at dinner - let alone skip firsts."  He muttered, "And Hermione and Harry are missing as well."

The three other boys in Gryffindor's fifth year class stared at each other then groaned in unison.

   "Oh bloody 'eck."  Dean muttered, "S'nother adventure isn't it?"

   "Bet they're all off with the fairies saving the world again or something."  Seamus said.

   "Wish they'd invited us."  Neville added; at the stares from his two friends he responded almost defensively, "Well - it's better than having to eat dinner.  And what's wrong with the house elves? It's the second time this week we've had haggis!"

    Seamus sniffed, "Don't see nothing wrong with dinner -"  he began only to be pelted on all sides by bread rolls (evidently Parvati and Lavender had been eavesdropping).

   "It's sheep's stomach Seamus!"  Neville wailed, "_Sheep_'s stomach!"

*

      "Summon Lady Malfoy _now_ you insignificant waste of life."  Snape snarled at the head bobbing in the fireplace, "Or I will ensure that what little remains of your pathetic existence _after_ I am through will be useless for anything - _including_ potions ingredients!"

    The House Elf was distraught; spindly fingers grabbed at long ears, "Micky must not! Mistress Malfoy is saying for Mickey not to be disturbing – Mickey _cannot_ -"  it whimpered.

   "Severus, are you _sure _this is the way to go about -"

    Severus glared at Remus Lupin, "Shut up."  And then turned back to the House Elf, "Bring her to me."  He bit out, "Now."  

    Micky the House Elf moaned then vanished with a pop that sent ashes fluttering through the green flames.

    "Was this why you sent Miss Granger away?"  Remus commented mildly from his perch on the table.  
Severus stalked over to a sideboard, "Shut up Lupin."  He said as he opened the panel and removed a bottle of 'Kipsucker's Moonshine'.

    Remus hid a smile and subsided into a chair.  Perhaps for want of something better to do rather than real interest (of course one could never tell with the Ravenclaw-in-Gryffindor-colours) he began to idly read through one of the many scrolls stacked up around the room – evidence of past weeks of work.

    "Speaking of Hermione, I must congratulate the both of you.  The research conducted – given the time span – is extremely - "  Remus paused, " - comprehensive."

   "Takes 'needle in a haystack' to new levels."  Severus grunted, glaring at the fire, "What is that House Elf doing? Learning proper grammar before it speaks to -"

    "Really, Severus - terrorising the help?"  Narcissa Malfoy's head appeared as suddenly as her voice, "How positively - impolite."  She said, "Mr Lupin - good evening."  
    Remus nodded, "Lady Malfoy."  He said politely, "Severus and I -"

   "Shut up Lupin."  Severus said absently without turning, "Narcissa.  I need to talk to you.  Not your head."  

There was a brief pause as Narcissa stared at the Potions professor, pale blue eyes unreadable, "My schedule is filled I'm afraid, Severus.  Surely this can wait till a more appropriate hour?"  she protested mildly, "Lucius and I were about to Apparate to a _truly_ important affair."  

   "Then after your - outing."  Severus replied promptly, unfazed.

A pale eyebrow arched, "We will be returning in the early hours - so tiresome; of course Lucius' attendance is required given his social standing.  But you understand, Severus though you haven't made an appearance since Tyche's – illness."  Narcissa continued lightly; Severus did not flinch at the name – too many years had passed.

    In his chair, Remus stiffened slightly (Severus had always noted that Remus Lupin was unusually quick for a Gryffindor).  

   "Given the – nature – of the discussion, Narcissa,"  Severus said instead, "Your physical presence would  be best."  

    Narcissa's head tilted thoughtfully, "Nature?"

   "It involves Draco and his recent – academic performance."  Severus' voice was low and quiet, "I thought it best if I spoke to you rather than Lucius given the relationship he shares with Draco."

    Narcissa paused, eyes flicking to the table heaped with books and scrolls before returning to Severus, "Very well.  The earliest opportunity is when I return tomorrow morning.  I anticipate all festivities shall be completed by three.  Shall we say five past the hour?"

Severus inclined his head, "As you will."  

    Narcissa's head floated silently in the green flames for several seconds before vanishing.

*

      Harry Potter was currently in the deserted Gryffindor Common Room.  He was staring at his notes (filled with far too many ink spots given he had spent four years writing with a quill) in shock.

    _Is that - all?_

    The spell had been invented during the French Revolution (he made a mental note to ask Hermione when _that _had happened) by a half-blood witch from Beauxbatons.  It was, crudely translated (and all his translations were crude really - there was only so much a dictionary could do), a protection charm.  _A binding to give - gift, promise, ensure? No it's probably ensure - so a binding to ensure the welfare - or is that safety? A binding to ensure the safety or welfare of friends._  

    It was - simpler than he would have expected.  (_Blood.  And thought.  And words._  _And somewhere high._)  He had expected something as complicated as the Polyjuice Potion - or ingredients that would have him bribing House Elves.  But the most esoteric requirement was his blood.  _Enough to form the outline of a circle.  Not that much really.  Maybe a bit more than what I'd loose to one of Hagrid's beasts._  Harry rubbed his eyes - they felt as if they were glowing.  _I can do it now.  While they're all at dinner._  

    He glanced down at the scattered notes covering the table before him.  _I can do it now._  A grin slowly spread over his face.  _Even be back in bed before curfew!_

    Which was the moment when the portrait swung open for one Ron Weasley.  

    _Bloody hell._  

*

      Ron glanced around the Common Room as he entered.  He wasn't (that) surprised to find Harry seated near the banked fire, nearly obscured from view by several stacks of books.     

    "All right Harry?"

Harry nodded, "All right Ron."  he responded - it was a familiar exchange of greetings.

    Ron stood in front of his best friend and suddenly felt at loss for words.  It was at times like these that had Ron realising just how much things had changed.  Last year, he would have slid into a seat – probably next to Hermione – and convinced one or both to stop studying long enough to play a game of Wizard's Chess.  Of course – a year ago, Harry wouldn't have been studying with as much (if not more) fervour, it seemed, than Hermione.

   "I'm not going to be Seeker."  Harry said abruptly, "I – won't.  You can tell Fred that."

    Ron blinked and then smiled, "No – I – ah – that is –"  he trailed off, not sure what to say ('_Hi Harry, just got given your place on the Quidditch team.  So lets be friends again okay?' – sounds dodgy even to me._), "Fred and George must have finally given up."  He said finally, "They just told me that they want me to play Seeker until you got your sanity back and decided to play again."  He stared anxiously at Harry.  _He's been so – bloody obstinate about _not _being Seeker – but I know how _I'd_ feel if one of my friends took my place on the team –_

    Ron shook his head.  _This is _Harry_ - he never gets upset over things like this._  He thought, sitting down in front of Harry (and then standing up again to move the books _off _the chair), "Pretty strange ain't it? I mean, usually it's you giving me the weird news.  Thinking Snape hexed your broom.  Hearing voices.  Fighting dragons or -"  he made a face, "Following spiders into the Forest."  He grinned, "I guess the nuttiness is contagious."

    Harry smiled (and if it seemed a trifle queasy, Ron didn't notice), "Yeah.  Madam Pomfrey should have put me into quarantine back in first year."  He said, "You really aren't going to try and talk me into being Seeker again?"

    Ron paused, then said carefully, "Well - Fred and George said I had to take your place until you're sane."  He said, "So - you still batty as Trelawney?"  

Harry froze, then smiled tentatively, "Just call me Batman - it's a muggle thing."  The last at the confused expression on Ron's face.

   "Damn."  Ron said, "Would've saved me from having to get up an hour early for practise - did I mention I got Keeper?"  

Harry actually grinned at this, "I heard.  The first five or six times you mentioned it to Ginny.  And Hermione.  And Seamus.  And Neville.  And then Dean threw his Transfiguration book at you and told you to shut up."

Ron made a face, "Yeah - there's something wrong with Dean."  He said, "Fred's gone psycho though - practise at six in the morning.  I mean - _six_."

Harry laughed, "Oliver use to get us up at four."  He said, "Count yourself lucky Fred likes sleeping in."

    And then, it was almost like normal again - except without Hermione.

   "Hey - do you know where Hermione is?"  Ron asked, "I thought she'd be here - especially since you're studying."  He glanced at the book in front of Harry and stared, "Harry - this isn't - it is - is this _French_?"

*

The small, unused classroom was still off the second corridor accessible only by the staircase that usually joined the start and end of the fourth corridor.  Hermione hated the classroom – and she hated the fact that it had come down to the stage that she required extra _tuition_ to keep up with the other students.  

    But mostly, she hated Divinations – especially when she had already been up for twenty one hours and Professor Snape had tossed her out of his quarters _just_ as it seemed they were about to unravel the mystery of Malfoy's affliction.

      It didn't help that the smoke pouring out of the fire was making her eyes water, her nose itch and her throat swell.  Or that Professor Trelawney had thrown what had to be at least five kilos of aromatic herbs into the various burners scattered around the (very) small room – making it not only stifling hot but incredibly hard to breath without choking.

    Well, it certainly did help her temper.   

Hermione waved a hand in front of her face, struggling not to grimace: "Can we open a window?"  she asked with more politeness than she currently felt, "The smoke is – a trifle much."  

    Sibyll Trelawney, the Hogwarts Professor of Divinations, sat primly on a squashy chair transported from her tower and blinked watery eyes as if surprised at Hermione's complaint, "It aids in de-misting the Inner Eye, my dear."  She said with a condescending smile.  

    That expression never failed to put Hermione's teeth on edge – and this late (according to her internal clock) in the day, it only made her irritation all the worse.

   "Oh.  Of – course."  Hermione said slowly and then coughed as the fire spluttered and more smoke billowed into the small room, "How precisely? Does it help de-mist the Inner Eye? Because I'm having trouble seeing anything at the moment."  She said, struggling to keep her voice even.

   "I was not referring to the more mundane sight you rely so desperately on, my dear."  Professor Trelawney said in a light, quavering tone that Hermione found fake and charlatanism at its worse, "Tea?"

    Hermione noted the steam from the teapot was not helping the smog, "No thank you."

   "Ah."  Professor Trelawney said, and smiled again – Hermione gritted her teeth, "You will my dear.  The Eye does not lie."

_    Yes – of _course_.  The Inner Eye does not lie.  Except perhaps for _anything _other than the _most _obvious, predictable possibilities!_ Hermione thought and twisted her skirt in her hands, "Professor – may we start please? It is late –"

   "These things cannot be rushed, my dear."  The Professor interrupted, "Tea?"

   "No thank you."  Hermione said, "But surely – it really is quite late –"

   "What is time so long as one has timeliness?"  Professor Trelawney shrugged off, "One sugar or two, dear?" 

    Hermione stared, "None please, Professor."

    Then she watched as the Professor dropped four cubes of sugar into the second cup of tea.  _Has she heard a single word I said? Is this a complete waste of time? Why do I bother asking these questions? The answers are as obvious as her abilities at predicting the future!_

    "Do drink before it cools, dear."  Professor Trelawney waved a hand vaguely over the table, "Oh – and do be careful.  The scald might not be serious enough to warrant Madam Pomfrey's care but it will still be –"

   "Oh this is ridiculous!"  Hermione broke in finally, "You can't tell me that this smoke and – and – and – _stupid _smells can help somebody see into the future! And tea – what does tea know about _anything_?"  she demanded, "What do smoke and tealeaves and crystals have to do with the future? And even if they did – even if it were in any way possible to predict the future from the way somebody holds their saucer or sips their tea, then I don't see how it applies to me!"  Hermione blinked, aghast at what she had just done (_Arguing with teachers isn't just a habit, Granger – it's becoming a lifestyle choice for you.  And by the way - the boys are going to kill you when they find out how many points you just lost Gryffindor!_).

    Professor Trelawney, however, merely stirred the tea in her cup, "All will be revealed in time, child."  She said in a soft, low voice, "You must only be patient." 

Hermione noted that the fussy lace on the end of the professor's sleeve dipped each time she lifted her arm – the steam, smoke and heat of the room was making the material decidedly limp.

She picked up the tea and took a brief sip before placing it back (carefully) onto the fussy little table, "Professor, if you spoke to Professor Dumbledore – it's – I'm not –"  Hermione stopped, drawing in a breath (she promptly coughed to clear her throat of smoke), "Professor Trelawney, I'm abysmal at Divinations.  It's a waste of both of our time.  Especially when there's so much more I – we – could be doing."  Hermione said, throttling the impatience crawling up and down her spine, "I'm sure if you explained to the headmaster –"

   "You are angered by a question you cannot answer."  Sibyll's broke in, staring past Hermione (who, long used to such techniques, did _not_ look over her shoulder) with a faraway expression, "You believe that had you not had to attend this session of learning, you might have discovered the answer you seek."  

    _Oh.  That's it._  Hermione felt her fragile grip on her temper shatter and vaguely heard herself say, sarcastically: "This _is_ a school – everybody has a question they can't answer.  We _are_ here to learn after all."  

    The fire spluttered; it emanated a suffocating warmth that made the small room all the worse.  

    Professor Trelawney sipped tea from her cup before placing it back onto the table with an elaborate flourish that made the limp lace at her wrists twitch.  Hermione forced herself not to roll her eyes as the professor stared down into the depths of the cup at the leaves.  _If she pretends to go into a trance I'm going to – to -_  

    There were just so many more important things she could be doing!

    At length, the Professor shifted her gaze from the teacup and stared at Hermione, watery blue eyes unfocused beneath the thick lenses of her glasses, "You were forced to leave at a critical juncture of the solution."  

    Hermione gritted her teeth, "That was a reiteration of the first prediction."  She said.

   "The research you conducted with Professor Snape – and now Professor Lupin – has nearly reached a place where all the answers you have had restless nights over will be revealed.  Professor Snape sent you away for your session with me – despite the fact that you had a time turner at your disposal.  You feel that he is trying to hide something from you – and this, you feel, is unfair, as you have spent as much, if not more time, in research as he has."  Professor Trelawney said – and her voice was a trifle more sharp.

    There was silence; Hermione opened her mouth to produce a suitably scathing retort when Sibyll continued: "You have worked closely with Professor Snape these past few weeks – would he share a confidence with me? Let alone one that revolved around one of _his _students.  _Especially_ when that student is Draco Malfoy?"  

    Hermione closed her mouth.  The first thought in her mind was that _no_, Professor Snape would as soon wear leather pants and get an earring as speak to the Divinations Professor.  The second was that Professor Trelawney had summarised Hermione's thoughts with a conciseness and turn of phrase that might have been lifted from her mind.  

    "My Sight once told me that you required a redefinition of Seers, Hermione.  Perhaps you have forgotten."  Sibyll continued, once more distant and irritatingly vague, "It matters not – I shall repeat my words and perhaps this time you will see the truth."  she met Hermione's gaze with a dreamy expression, "A good Seer is also known as a strategist."  The fire spluttered again; the air was choked with smoke, "Your future is certain, Hermione Granger.  You will be the last bulwark between Harry Potter and Voldemort's forces."

   "I know that."  Hermione said and then wished she hadn't as the smoke tickled her throat, "It is why Professor Dumbledore said I had to have private lessons in Divinations with you – but I just_ don't_ have the ability!"  she rubbed at eyes red from fumes and waved a hand, trying to breath in some fresh air.

    It was late – she was tired, and frankly she never had patience for Divinations _anyway_.

   "Seeing the future is a basic ability – what is not is the capacity to _use_ it."  Professor Trelawney intoned as she lifted the pot of tea, "Your lack of talent comes from a refusal to _see_."  

   "I'm not refusing -!"

   "Aren't you?"  the tea fell from the pot in a steady stream.  

    Steam rose, vanishing in the smoke filled air, "More tea?"

   "No thank you."  Hermione snapped.

   "Then tell me – where is Peeves most likely to be on Friday mornings?"  

   "The south staircase leading down to Professor Snape's dungeon."  Hermione replied instantly, "And I didn't predict that.  It's just a pattern – Peeves is always at the south staircase on Friday mornings.  He use to lie in wait for us last year."

   "The future is composed of patterns."  Professor Trelawney said and sipped genteelly, "Divinations is the ability to see those patterns –"

   "That's ridiculous!"  Hermione rolled her eyes, "It's just – the same events occurring.  If the future was just the same things happening over and over again then everybody would know –"

   "Do you notice between one step and the next that an event has occurred that has been repeated continuously since your birth?"  the professor asked; her eyes seemed to waver in the thick smoke beneath the thick glass of her glasses.

Hermione stared at the professor, "Of course not – it's – it's _walking_."  

   "Another example.  Do ants notice the source and cause of both destruction and providence in their lives? A Seer looks beyond the moment – they must see nothing and _then_ everything, Hermione."  

    Tendrils of smoke from the fire and steam from the spout of the teapot seemed to swirl around them.  Hermione was fairly sure she was suffering from oxygen deprivation.  

    "Divinations uses such trinkets as crystals and tealeaves because when _reasons _are obscured, it becomes possible to discover a pattern, child."  Professor Trelawney whispered as she leaned forward, "Your question has been answered."  She said in a low, soft tone. 

   "No it hasn't! I didn't even ask that question!"  Hermione almost wailed (perhaps because her eyes were stinging from smoke), "This isn't about why I Divinations has to use something as stupid as smoke and mirrors to tell the future -"   
   "Isn't it?"  Sibyll's eyes no longer seemed watery behind the glass, "What is taught to the students at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, is a method to obscure the present so that the future becomes clear.  What you must learn is how to make the future make sense in the framework of the present."  

   "What?"  Hermione was confused – and irritated, "Why are you speaking in riddles?"  she demanded in exasperation.

   "What will happen if Harry Potter does not escape with the other students when Hogwarts is attacked?"

   "He'll fight with You-Know-Who – Voldemort.  And then –"  Hermione scrubbed at her eyes, coughing as she waved in a futile effort to clear some air, " – he looses because he isn't ready yet."  She swallowed – they all knew what could happen, it was one of the great unspoken topics in the wizarding world: Harry Potter's prophesied death, "It – he –"  she gritted her teeth, "It's obvious." __

   "And why is it obvious?"

   "I –"  Hermione stared at the Divinations professor in frustration, "It's common sense.  He's only fifteen! And even if he's a great wizard, he isn't fully trained like Voldemort.  It isn't prophecy! It's just – logic!"

    Sibyll nodded, "And what is logic?"

    Hermione stared at the professor – and resisted the urge to tug at her hair, "A summation of the next plausible step in a chain of events."  She said stiffly, "Logic has nothing to do with predicting the future –"  and stopped suddenly.

   "Precisely."  Sibyll said, and waved a hand.

    The smoke vanished with a suddenness that made Hermione light headed (or perhaps that was the sudden influx of fresh air).

*

      Harry glared at the board as Ron checkmated him (again), "Three more moves and my knight would have been in place."  He muttered.

Ron grinned, too used to beating Harry at chess to bother with a good-natured taunt.  The two boys leaned back in their seats and watched as the only other occupant of the Common Room (Lee Jordan) headed upstairs for the night (or morning, given the time).

    _This feels good._  Harry thought.  _And it can't hurt can it? No harm done really.  Right? I'll just – enjoy this for a while.  And after Ron's asleep I'll sneak out and finish the spell.  It's probably even better this way: there won't be anybody at the Astronomy Tower to catch me.  They'll be both safe by morning._

    And - it was easier to forget the hole inside him (and how easy it would be to fall far enough that climbing back out became impossible) when Ron was making jokes about what Seamus and Neville had done to Dean in Herbology.  Easier to ignore everything when he was making jokes and watching Ron go red every time Hermione was brought up.     

    "Do you know where Hermione is?"  Ron asked suddenly, disrupting the comfortable silence.

   "What?"  

   "Hermione.  She wasn't at dinner.  And she hasn't come back to the Common Room."  Ron said, staring worriedly at the portrait door (the large clock hanging over the entrance read: "Why aren't you in bed?"), "Do you think she's been upstairs all this time?"  he glanced uncertainly at the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory.

   "It isn't like Hermione to be out after curfew."  Harry replied uncertainly, "She wasn't at dinner?"

   "No -"  Ron stopped, "Well, I left fairly early cause Hermione - and you –"  he rushed to add, " - weren't there."  

    Harry cast an amused glance at his best friend.  The words: 'when are you going to ask her out?' hovered on the tip of his tongue - _Later.  After the protection spell is in place._  He thought, _Besides - it's more fun being able to tease both of them about this._  Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning at that future prospect.

   "So you think she's upstairs too?"  Ron asked.

    Harry blinked, "What? I mean – well, this is Hermione.  Where else would she be -"  then frowned, "Wait - no.  I've been here since after class.  And she didn't come in with me -"  he frowned as he added: "By the time you lot got back, Dean was asking Lavender if she was upstairs.  You remember? Just after he threw his text book at you."

    Ron glanced at the painting, "So - she's still outside.  .  ."  he said, trailing off, "That's not like Hermione _at_ all."  He muttered.

    Harry had to agree - and now he was feeling slightly alarmed, "She's probably in trouble."  He said.

    Ron jumped to his feet, "Well, that settles it then."  He said, "Go get your father's cloak - we have to find Hermione."

    Which was where the problems started as Ron had grown tall enough that the cloak no longer covered both he and Harry.  At least not without more physical proximity than either boy was comfortable with.

    _So it's fine with _Malfoy_ but Ron - your _best friend_ - gives you the crawlies?_  Harry stomped on the insidious thought (and ignored the follow up: _Auwk - Ron kissing me - oh that's just - yuck -_ as simply being redundant), "I'll go alone then."  At Ron's instant protest, he hastened to add: "I'm less likely to get a howler from your mum if I get caught."  

    Ron went green (howlers from Molly Weasley were not to be taken lightly) but still seemed firm in his resolve.

   "What happens if Hermione comes back while we're both out there?"  Harry pointed out finally, "Who's going to stop her from thinking Voldemort – sorry, You-Know-Who - got the both of us, waking Dumbledore up and having everybody in a panic before we get back?"

    Really, it wasn't much of a discussion.

*

      Draco woke up cold and stiff from falling asleep crouched behind a statue in a draft-filled corridor.  For several seconds, he wasn't sure where he was or why he was there.  

    Memory flooded back – he had been waiting for the opportunity to catch Harry Potter away from his sycophants.  Except Potter had not taken a step either into or out of the tower since after dinner.

    _What a time for the dolt to start following school rules._  Draco thought, gritting his teeth as he shifted into a more comfortable position and settled down to wait for a little longer.  After all – Potter would have to leave the tower sooner or later.  _To eat if nothing else.  Everybody eats.  Even Harry bloody Potter, the sodding Boy Who freaking Lived._

      Several minutes later, Hermione Granger (_Mudblood swot._) hurried up the corridor.  _Hah - there's something to tell the professor tomorrow.  Perfect Granger out after curfew - be even better if she was a Prefect._  Draco thought as he glared after the frizzy head of the Gryffindor.  

    Granger paused, half a corridor away from the Portrait - almost as if she had just walked into something.  

   "Harry?"  the soft whisper was easily heard in the silence. 

    (_There's something to pass around Hogwarts - Granger's gone mad._)

   "Hermione - where have you been?"  Harry Potter's voice came clearly out of thin air.

    Draco froze.  _How -_

    Harry Potter appeared suddenly in the corridor, a cloak dangling from his hand (_Merlin - an Invisibility Cloak!_).

   "What are you _doing_ out here Harry? It's past _curfew_!"  Granger exclaimed.

   "Ron and I were worried - we thought you might be in trouble –"  Potter said hastily (Draco sneered – _Gryffindors.  The only difference between them and Hufflepuffs is the evident lack of intelligence!_), "Besides - you're out after curfew as well, Hermione."  

   "Ah – well I –"  the mudblood stopped, "Wait.  Ron – and you - were worried about me?"  there was a pause, then a softly expressed: "Oh."

    Draco's eyes narrowed – it looked as if Granger was staring up mistily at Potter (or at least not-quite-down at the Boy-Who-Never-Grew).  _I thought Granger was chasing after Weasley - so much for trusting Pansy's gossip._  

   "Ron and I can't really fit under the cloak together any more."  Potter was saying, "So he's waiting in case you came back before I found you."  The boy paused, then added, "Hey - Hermione? When you go in - could you say -"  and paused again.

   "What is it, Harry?"  Granger asked softly.

   "Just tell Ron you didn't see me."  Potter said.

   "Oh Harry."  Granger sighed exasperatedly, "You know that it's dangerous wandering the castle at night -"  Granger said (_Boy Who Is A Wimp._  Draco thought with a smirk, _What does she think is going to get him without the entire castle waking when the Wards go down? Pegasus droppings?_)

   "Malfoy's out there all the time."  Potter pointed out, "And we all know he runs at the sight of danger."  (Draco glared at the two Gryffindors – _I _retreated.  _There's a difference you suicidal freak!_) "Besides - I just - forgot to do some Astronomy homework.  I need to pop up to the Tower and finish off my diagrams."  He said then added: "And well.  .  .  I'm almost sure Ron wants to talk to you - well, _privately_."

   "Astronomy homework - what - ? Oh - I mean -"  Granger shuffled slightly, head ducking, "Really?"

   "Well - maybe."  Potter shrugged uneasily - and (Draco frowned and squinted - in the low light of the torches, it was hard to see) flushed, "It's Ron after all."

    Granger laughed, "Just - be careful okay? If you're not back by three, Ron and I are going straight to Dumbledore."  She said, and hurried towards the portrait containing a fat lady dressed in a hideous pink smock.  

    Potter watched till she entered the portrait before turning and hurrying down the corridor - directly past Draco.

_Astronomy tower.  .  ._

    On any other night, Draco would have taken the overheard conversation as a miracle passed down from Salazar Slytherin's ghost himself.  After all - it was the perfect opportunity to get Harry Potter into trouble.  One word to Professor Snape and - well, there was likely to be point deductions and several detentions at the very least.

    _Later._  

    Draco followed behind Potter, footsteps silent more out of habit than any coherent decision.  

    _Later - I can hex Potter – _

_- burn him to a crisp_ _- _

_    - keep him locked in that stupid cell - see how he likes it -_

_- starve him to death -_

_     - kiss him till he asphyxiates and touch him till his skin is chafed from my hands and -_

_    Later.  I can do - whatever - later.  After he answers my questions._

    _After I find out how he does it.  How he controls this_ curse_._

*

Harry had a plan – it just wasn't one that had existed for very long.  However, it was a plan and he intended to stick to it.  He glanced cautiously around the classroom, hoping that he wouldn't discover that the rumours that the tower was a favourite rendezvous point for couples were true.  

    The Astronomy classroom was empty.  Moonlight glinted on the eyepiece of the huge telescope that took up half the ceiling.  On the floor, the runes and symbols marking the constellations - along with their names and positions in the night sky throughout the year - glowed a faded gold.  

    Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry dropped the cloak onto the floor.  The notes - tucked between the pages of the French dictionary currently lying back in the Common Room - had stated the spell needed nothing more than the words in addition to blood, intent and somewhere high.  He walked to the window; the view – as always – took his breath away.  _Definitely high._  

    The setting was right; Harry drew his wand as he glanced uncertainly at the floor.  The book hadn't mentioned any specially spelled circles or protective Wards (which was good since Harry didn't know how to cast either).  _Okay.  Well then the situation is right._  Harry decided.  _Now all I need is the intent - which is pretty easy - and the blood._

    _Damn._

    All that was required was enough blood to sprinkle in an approximation of a circle.  The book had mentioned something about proof - a metaphorical representation of a willingness to die to ensure the safety of his friends.  _Well - at least I _think _it needs blood of human.  It might have been blood of a _turnip_.  .  ._

    Regardless, Harry had a problem.  Whether the blood required was a drop or a litre - he had nothing to cut himself with.  _Don't really feel like pricking my finger with a quill either._  He thought, casting a glance at Professor Sinistra's table at the far end of the round room.  _Besides - it lacks a little.  .  .  Ceremony._

*

      Draco had lost Potter somewhere between the corridor leading past the Great Hall and the third flight of stairs that led to the Astronomy Tower.  (_An Invisibility Cloak!_) It seemed unfair that for the past five years, _he_ – Draco Malfoy, son of one of the richest men in the wizarding world – had been forced to make do with simple sneakiness and several illegally obtained spells when it came to after hours exploration.  But he wasn't particularly surprised that _Potter _had something as rare and esoteric as the cloak.  _Far be it for Potter to do anything like the rest of us lowly mortals._  

    Draco sneered and ran quickly up the stairs leading to the Astronomy classroom.  _Still – as Professor Snape says, 'tools are unnecessarily for true brilliance'._  And Draco Malfoy prided himself on being brilliant.

    Not that he really needed anything more than mediocre intelligence when it came to Potter.  

    The thing about Gryffindors, Draco knew, was that they made terrible liars.  It wasn't that they couldn't hide guilt as well as any - _Hufflepuff anyway._  It was that it was (very) easy to catch them at falsehoods.  They lacked _timing_.  _Idiots the lot of them.  As if it was ever a question of _who_ charmed the Slytherin banners to show boinking nifflers._  He rolled his eyes as he hurried up the stairs.  

    _Thousand to one guess Potter's at the top of the Astronomy Tower right now_.  Draco sneered; _He's probably even doing homework._  He stopped to catch his breath before rounding the last curve of steps.  

      From the shadow of the doorway, Draco could see Potter.  He was standing by the window, looking thoughtful.  

   "Right -!"  Potter flourished his wand, "_Accio_ quill!"  

    Draco watched as a quill (an ornamental blue peacock feather Professor Sinistra used for sketching constellation runes in the air) floated over to the Gryffindor.  _What's he up to?_

    Potter caught the quill and tapped his palm twice with the tip of his wand, "_Converto cultello_!"  

    The quill shuddered then shrank and shimmered; Draco stared in shock as a strange, one-edged serrated dagger with an odd black handle appeared in Potter's hand.  

   "Right then."  Potter grasped the dagger uncertainly, "_Pour le bien-être amité.  Pour le protection amité._"  (_French_? Thought Draco in confusion as he attempted to translate the mangled verbs Potter was pronouncing).

    And then Potter raised his hand and brought the dagger down on his arm.  _Merlin's arse on a pole!_

*

      _For the well being of my friends.  .  .  For the protection of my friends.  .  ._  Harry concentrated, repeating the words as he grasped the transfigured steak knife (which reminded him a trifle of the ones Aunt Petunia used back on Privet Drive).  The book had implied that any words would do - but it seemed safer to use what he had been given.  _Okay._  The edge of the knife caught the moonlight.  _This is probably going to hurt._

    With that, Harry Potter brought the knife down, slashing across his arm.  

      There was no pain at first - he stared at the blood that welled slowly across the cut.  _Oops.  Maybe I should have just - pricked my finger or something._  

    Then it hit - a burning sensation that escalated to pain.  _Definitely over did it._  It was eerie, feeling the not-water trickling down his arm.  _Better finish this before I bleed to death - and won't that be something for the Daily Prophet? Boy Who Lived _accidentally_ commits suicide._  Harry thought as he grasped the knife with the bleeding hand and fumbled for his wand.  _Right - their names, then the words.  Then sprinkle blood in circle, concentrate on intent, repeat twice.  And then - heal these cuts and go to bed._  He thought as he ducked his head and grinned.  _And they'll be safe._

    Which was about the time when something caught him directly across the stomach.

    Yelling in alarm, pain and shock, Harry went flying backwards, blood sending an arch across the diagram of the night sky etched into the stone floor.  

    _Bloody hell _– the wood of his wand was slick as he tried to tighten his hold on it.  He had almost managed to grip it tightly enough to execute the proper swish for a '_Stupefy_' when the back of his head slammed down against the stone.  He skidded to a halt somewhere between Orion's spear and Libra's scales.  

      There was silence - unbroken by any sound but that of the wind as it blew through the open windows of the Astronomy Tower.

    Harry took cautious inventory: the back of his head throbbed.  His arm felt as if somebody had sliced it open.  _Oh wait.  Somebody - I mean _I_ did do that._  His back felt like his fingers had the time he'd been using Aunt Petunia's cheese grater and pressed too hard.  _Ouch._  He was having a hard time breathing.  _Falling does that._  And there was a weight on his stomach.  _Right - so what's the weight?_

    Harry squirmed - found that he could barely move - and opened his eyes to be met by silver.  _I've gone blind -!_

    _No wait -_

    It was hair - and there was only one person in all of Hogwarts with hair that resembled silver gilt.  _Malfoy._

    _So now the question is: _why_ is _Malfoy _on top of me._

    Harry was fairly sure he wasn't dreaming (not that he was admitting he dreamed of Malfoy) - unfortunately _not_ dreaming of Malfoy (at all, ever) left him with the same problem.  _What the hell is Malfoy doing on top of me in the Astronomy Tower after curfew?_

    He shifted, dislodging Malfoy (who was definitely the weight on his stomach) enough to reach a half reclining position.

    Malfoy was glaring at him.

    Harry was nonplussed.  After all, he was the victim in this particular encounter, "Malfoy."  He finally said (he might have yelled, but that required more breath than he currently had given he was currently underneath somebody).

   "Potter."  Malfoy - not moving (and incidentally pinning Harry's good arm on the ground) – replied, equally evenly.

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**Author's Note**: I forgot to mention this in the A/N of **Chapter Twenty-Two **but translate – (or correct) any phrases (in French, Latin or any other language) I've used in this or the previous chapter and I'll post the next chapter (**Chapter Twenty-Four**) to you early (well, if you include your email).  In the meantime – Narcissa Malfoy cookie to anybody who can figure out the mythological references in the various names and epithets used.

**mjwhittaker, SparkySparkles, Wes** - thank you for reviewing.  Particularly **mjwhittaker** (sorry, definately not Singaporean.  Why do you ask?) and **Wes** (I generally don't email everybody who reviews - if only to not annoy people.  Feel free to drop me an email however, I love receiving mail).

**mistykasumi** - welcome back to the internet.  Glad to hear you got your Internet Explorer to work again.  As for 'true slash'.  Well - I don't intend to up my rating from PG-13 but there will be much "snogging and near-shagging" in about two and a half chapters.  Take that whatever way you wish.  

**Demeter** - right.  Still not completely over the 'authors I read, read my work too - and like it' sensation.  Suffice to say - I've read your SS/... (~grins~) fiction and went '0_0 Why can't I write like that?'.  "**Liquid Obituary**" at the **Severus Snape Fuh-Que Fest** **Archive** (and for anybody interested - run that title and the archive name through Google - http://www.google.com) is the only Snape/Draco piece I have ever enjoyed.  ~grins~ Take that whatever way you want.  And yes - fluff, but good, angsty-with-reason-and-a-dash-of-pure-Slytherin fluff.  Got to love it.

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**A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**


	25. Before the Dawn

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

Once more – thank you to **AsheFarley**, beta-reader extraordinare.  Who patiently worked through my improbable ideas, read through my rants and babble.  ^_^ Now if only I could find a man who had those qualities and was straight ^_-

**NOTE: **This chapter saw a _huge_ influx of reviews (for which I thank all of you! ^_^ Am feeling very read).  As such, it's reaching a stage where the response adds a large amount of text to the chapter.  I know this occasionally annoys readers – so: do I keep responding to reviews? Do I include a response in a separate chapter (much as I have done in **Crossing Bridges**)? Do I stop responding all together? As the responses are for the readers, I would really like your opinion on this.****

**Author's Notes **and **response to reviews **(in alphabetical order) at end of chapter.  Enjoy the story!

Tien Riu

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**Chapter Twenty-Three**: Before Dawn

      Harry dragged in some much needed air and _then_ he shouted: "WHAT THE _HELL _WAS THAT FOR MALFOY?!"

   "What do you think Potter?"  Draco hissed, face so close that his breath ruffled Harry's hair. 

   "You're insane Malfoy!"  Harry squirmed as he tried to gain leverage, "_Get off me_!"

Draco didn't move; "What were you were doing?"  

   "Why do _you _care?"  Harry demanded, struggling against the other boy's weight. 

   "What were you doing?"  Draco demanded, grabbing the cut arm (startling Harry); blood dripped down his hand and splashed onto their robes, "WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!"

    Harry stared in shock at Draco – _Good grief.  Malfoy's lost his mind._      

    "What were you doing?"  

    Had this occurred in the corridors (probably between classes) or in the Great Hall (during a meal) or even on the Quidditch pitch, Harry would never have told Draco the truth.  Not that he actually needed to keep it a secret (well, not once the spell was complete and they couldn't stop him).  It was just – well, _not _telling Draco had become a habit over the past four years.  

    But – he was in the Astronomy Tower.  

    With Draco Malfoy.  

    On top of him.  

    Any of the three statements would have been occasion for out of character behaviour.  That all three were 'true' was rather mind-boggling.  Besides – his arm _hurt_.  And breathing was rather hard when somebody was on top of you.

    "I was performing a spell."  Harry muttered.

   "A _what_?"

   "A _spell_ – with _magic_.  What else would I be doing up here in the Tower?!"  Harry snapped irritatedly, "Now _get off me Malfoy you sod_!"  the last at a yell that made his ears ring.

   "A spell Potter?"  Draco sneered, "In the Astronomy Tower? This early in the morning? With a knife?"  a lock of hair had fallen from its carefully slicked back position, it dangled over one eye, "Let me guess – you were collecting virgin's blood for some sort of _fertility_ rite."  

_    Is he _trying _to start a fight?_ Harry wondered – because despite his prejudice against Slytherins (and Malfoys in particular) he really was a logical and rather sensible (given his age) lad, "What if I was? You jump on people doing fertility rites often, Malfoy?"  he flushed and hoped that it was too dark for the Slytherin to notice.

   "Wait.  It was a growth charm! Good idea Potter – you definitely need one."  Draco smirked, "Or – I know! A _love potion _to use on the weasel –"

   "Loony."  Harry muttered and gave up trying to budge the weight (Who would have thought Malfoy weighed so much?) on him, "Look – get off me and I'll tell you the spell."  He said finally (the stone was cold, his arm hurt, his head ached from where it had slammed against the floor and frankly, with his luck, somebody was going to walk in on them soon and it would probably be Colin Creevey – and then there would be _pictures_ everywhere and frankly he'd be hard pressed _not _to hex that camera into a blast-ended skrewt -).

    To give Harry credit, it was late (or early) enough that very few people would have been even _vaguely_ coherent.  

    Draco stared down at him for several seconds.  Harry, lying there, absolutely refused to recall, in any detail (at all) a similar occasion less than a month ago when he had been in the position to notice that the boy's eyes were truly silver (rather than shades of grey or blue).  _This is getting ridiculous - every time Malfoy gets close to me strange things happen._  Harry thought irritatedly, _If it isn't weird lumps – and it had better have been his wand is all I can say – it's kissing – _kissing!_ – out by the Great Lake at odd hours and now this.  Jumping me in the Astronomy Tower after curfew.  Ron's right – the Malfoys are all either evil or insane, and this one's probably both._

     Finally, with evident distrust, Draco got off him.  Harry stood up with a breath of relief and, rubbing the back of his head (where a lump was already forming) he searched and found his wand.

    "What spell were you casting?"  the Slytherin demanded almost as soon as Harry had found and pocketed his wand.

   "It was a protection spell – for Hermione and Ron –"

   "A – _what_?"

    It was the first time Harry had ever seen Draco Malfoy so completely shocked (well, excepting that time back in first year when they had come across Voldemort drinking Unicorn's blood in the Forbidden Forest – but the terror took precedence).

   "A protection spell."  Harry repeated, with more patience than he felt.

    He glanced over to the rough circle of blood drops he had created (and wondered, idly if blood was hard to get out of stone – because he wasn't really looking forward to the expression on Professor Sinistra's face otherwise).  The book hadn't said what was supposed to happen after the casting.  

   "A – protection spell?"  Draco repeated slowly, " – one that requires blood?"

   "Yes."  Harry rubbed his arm – it was beginning to throb in time with his head.

    The book hadn't mentioned what was to be done with the cut, but given that it had been _intent_ rather than the _blood_ (per say) that had been important, he rather supposed that healing it instantly with a potion or a visit to Madam Pomfrey would be rather – well, _bad_.

   "_Blood_ -?"

   "Yes!"  Harry shouted, "What's your point?"  and refrained (rather mightily in his opinion) from adding: 'you repetitive dunderhead' to the end of that sentence (if only because imitating Professor Snape was the last thing he wanted to be doing).

   "Potter you _idiot_."  Draco sneered, "Protection spells don't _exist_ – they're _myths_.  As _any _five year old would know."  Harry's fists began itching in time with the throbbing of his arm and head, "_Fairy tales_ – and I've never heard of one that needed _blood_."  

    "Indeed." 

    Both boys froze and turned, almost as one, to the door of the Astronomy classroom.  

   "Professor Dumbledore."  Harry said, and tugged on the sleeve of his robe self-consciously.

The Headmaster was silent as he stared at the boys; finally he turned his full attention to Draco, "Mr Malfoy.  You have my permission to retire early from your detention."  

Draco nodded sharply, "Yes, sir."

    The Slytherins, for all their snide remarks about Hogwarts and its headmaster, rarely (so Harry noted) showed actual disrespect when confronted with the man himself.  It always struck Harry as a prime example of Slytherin guile and cowardice.

   "Oh, and Mr Malfoy?"  Draco paused in the doorway of the classroom though he did not turn; "I believe the password to the Slytherin common room was changed shortly after curfew.  A stop by Professor Snape's chambers might be in order."  

    It was only after Draco's footsteps had faded into silence that Professor Dumbledore turned his gaze to Harry, the gold rims of his glasses glinting in the moonlight, "A word in my office if you please, Harry." 

*

      Narcissa, the Lady Malfoy, arrived at three sharp – and despite the hour, was impeccably dressed for the occasion of meeting her son's Head of House.  Remus had once heard that there was clothing suitable for any occasion – on meeting Narcissa Malfoy eighteen years after her graduation from Hogwarts, he was more inclined to believe that statement.  Narcissa was one of the _grandé dames_ of wizarding society – and bore the power that position brought with an unconscious grace.

    That being said, Remus found no other use for the woman.  He had never met a woman so utterly – _Capable of upholding every single sexist muggle stereotype – the same ones Lily used to entertain us with when were finishing our Muggle Studies assignments._  It was – absolutely terrifying - that Professor Dumbledore had made decisions based on information provided by _Narcissa _Malfoy.  __

    Finally, after fifteen minutes of what amounted to a discussion on several ex-Slytherins – all of who seemed to be part of the social circle Severus and Narcissa shared – Remus quietly excused himself.  

    He had to talk to Professor Dumbledore.  _Sirius was right.  We can't trust Malfoys – they're either evil or feather-brained._  

*

      "Finally.  I had forgotten how utterly dense Gryffindors can be."  Narcissa murmured as Remus Lupin exited the room, "Very polite of course – just unable to take anything but the most blatant of hints that their presence is unwanted."

   "I had wondered why you were imitating Amaryllis Parkinson."  Severus said mildly – despite the fact that one of his eyes had begun to twitch (ever so subtly) after the first five minutes of mindless gossip Narcissa had forced onto him, "Or what possible relevance Josephine Crabbe's latest choice in robes had on _anything_.  At all."  He added through gritted teeth.

Narcissa laughed lightly, "Oh that was just to amuse myself – you _glower_ when you're irritated Severus.  It used to entertain me for _hours_ during the worst of the meetings – Tyche and I wagered on how long it would be before you lost control over your magic and something exploded."  She frowned thoughtfully, "As I recall, I placed my favourite earrings against those pairs of little shoes she kept making for – well, you know."  this with a laughing glance in his direction, "I fancied a pair for Llyr – this was before Lucius set his heart on 'Draco' of course."  Narcissa paused, tapping one perfectly manicured finger against a pursed lip, "Oh dear, lost track of that sentence didn't I? Where was I? Ah yes –"

   "Narcissa -"  Severus began.

   " – well I told Tyche that all it would take was having to listen to Lord Evans – the senior – pontificate on potions one more time.  Tyche won – but that is neither here nor there."  

   "Narcissa,"  Severus stopped, then began again, "In payment for what I'm doing for your _son _– never mention Tyche in my presence again."  

    Narcissa tilted her head, staring at Severus in silence for several seconds, "You haven't forgotten."  She smiled, "Good."  

    Severus flinched.

    The silence was filled with a weight that empty air did not normally have.

    "Never forget, Severus Snape, where _your _actions put Tyche."  

    "Narcissa.  It's late.  I have a class at nine that will, without question, witness at least one cauldron explosion and two near poisonings."  Severus growled, "Let the past _lie_."  

   "Never."  Narcissa smirked.

   "Then let _your_ son – the last Malfoy heir – be dragged into this war.  Let him _die_ because I cannot help him!"  Severus snapped and watched with little satisfaction as Narcissa's socialite mask crumbled into an angry glare.

   "You want me to '_let the past lie_' – let it _lie_ when _you_ have stripped her from your life?"  Narcissa demanded heatedly, "You – who has forgotten her and everything that she was – _who_ she was –"

   "She's _dead_ Narcissa -!"  Severus stopped, dragging in a ragged breath, "Tyche D'Epona is _dead_."  He stared at her, daring her to speak; the silence stretched and at length, in a calmer tone he asked: "What did Voldemort do to your son, Narcissa?"  

    "Voldemort wants a new pet."  Narcissa bit out.

    There was a pause.

   "I beg your pardon?"  Severus finally managed.

    "And this from one of the chosen few.  The height of magical breeding – a wizard of purest blood."  Narcissa rolled her eyes, "This war would be over and _won_ if the Dark Lord would see witches as something other than decoration."  She said derisively, "And the irony that this is a view the wizarding world adopted from muggles -  
"  she made a disgusted face, "It certainly hasn't escaped me."

Severus waved a hand dismissively, "Rouse Gryffindors to fight for equality between the sexes in your own time."  He said impatiently, "What does Lord Voldemort want as a new pet? How does Draco factor into his plans?"  and silently: _And how will it effect the balance in the war?_

    "Shouldn't it be obvious?"  Narcissa's voice was flat and expressionless, "Voldemort wants his own personal dragon – and Lucius volunteered the last scion of the Malfoy _and _Du Lér families for the task."  She stood suddenly, pacing in an uncharacteristic expression of nervous energy.

   "But how –?"  Severus began.

   "The Rite of the Dragon – if it was not obvious by now you idiot."  She said; her robes swirled around her legs, the pink a strange swath of pastel amidst the grey stone and green of the chamber.

   "The Rite doesn't exist."  Severus protested immediately, "It is fundamentally _impossible _to complete!" 

   "Has teaching Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs sucked all intelligence from your mind, Severus?"  Narcissa demanded as she swung around to stare at the potions master, "Magic is about the _impossible _and Lord Voldemort has made it his life's work to side step every one of the restrictions the Ministry of Magic has placed on that fact."  A cold wind blew through the chamber, "With enough power – _nothing_ is impossible –"  she stopped, laughing lightly, "But of course – how can you believe that when despite your loyalty to Voldemort and his ideals, you could never heal Tyche?"  Severus remained in the chair he was seated in, a still dark figure half obscured by the shadows in the fireless room, "Dragons are renown for their loyalty – and Voldemort wanted one.  With silver colouring.  Why he couldn't have had a fixation for fast racing brooms –"  again Narcissa stopped, "He chose Lucius and Lucius chose me.  If I had –"  she took a breath before her voice began to shake.

   "What happened?"

Narcissa shrugged, "After the first hour, he stopped imitating a hearth fire and looked exactly like any other baby would.  Or at least any other baby I had ever seen –"  she shook her head, the motion uncharacteristically jerky, "I was never told why – my _duty_ was complete the moment Draco was conceived."

   "The Rite – the rite has to be finished, to bind the dragon to its maker."  Severus said quietly.

   "This summer.  Two weeks after he returned to the Manor."  Narcissa said, "Or so I surmised – it was the day Lucius sent me to the Continent."  She looked up at the clock on the wall ("Classes begin at nine – you greasy glob of goobers!"), "According to the legends of the Rite, Draco will transform into a dragon when he reaches his physical majority – or his eighteenth birthday.  Lucius never clarified the point."

   "And then?"  Severus pressed.

Narcissa did not turn from her study of the clock, she shrugged instead, a graceful rise and fall of fabric, "Draco becomes the first noble dragon in existence since the end of the Golden Age.  Or – he ends up the way of any would-be animagus who has attempted to become a dragon.  Trapped and as true an animal as if _it _were born into that shape – and no recourse or _finite incantatum_ to save the last -!"  she stopped abruptly, standing still and straight – a pale flash of white in the shadows, when she began again, her voice was once more steady, "And perfectly loyal to Lord Voldemort – of course.  Another unusual pet for the Dark Lord – I believe he intends to ride it into battle.  Or perhaps use it to scare his enemies.  It is always hard to predict _our_ Lord's intentions -"  she stopped suddenly, glancing sharply at the door.

    They both heard the exclamation followed by a loud '_thump_'.

   "Tell me you cast some form of ward against eavesdropping."  Narcissa said. 

Severus threw her a frankly insulted glare, "Of course.  Unfortunately the wards activate when the door is closed."  He gestured to where Remus Lupin's oh-so-quiet departure had left a crack between frame and wood, "Bloody Gryffindors."  With a flick of his wand, Severus flung open the door. 

    Up the long corridor that terminated in Severus' personal chambers, the aforementioned Lupin (struggling to rise on what would later turn out to be a sprained ankle) lay in a dishevelled pile at the foot of the staircase.

    The information the werewolf had to offer was no better than his condition; holding onto the banister to maintain balance, Remus gasped out: "Passed me on the stairs – probably heard everything you said.  I tried to stop him – your students are quick with the hexes.  Never even saw him draw his wand - some form of _incendio_.  Fell down trying to extinguish the flames – rather stupid I know.  I should have just called water or cast an extinguishing charm."  He shook his head, "Are those bells ringing?"

    At which point Remus fell down in a spate of dizziness (caused, Madam Pomfrey later diagnosed, by the concussion he had sustained from falling down half a flight of stairs).

*

      Sirius Black had been waiting in the Headmaster's Office when Harry arrived with Professor Dumbledore.  Somehow – and Harry wasn't precisely sure how this worked – Sirius had found out what he had been doing in the Astronomy Tower (well, the parts that didn't involve Draco Malfoy anyway) and had jumped to all the wrong conclusions.

    Which, it seemed, was what Professor Dumbledore had done as well – Harry was slowly reaching the conclusion that most everybody would reach the wrong idea.  He was also beginning to realise that with dried blood on his arms and a transfigured steak knife lying on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, there probably was rather a lot of reasons for this effect.  

    To say the conversation had deteriorated would be equivalent to referring to Sirius Black's twelve years in Azkaban as a 'pleasant jaunt'.  It certainly didn't help that Professor Dumbledore had seated himself off to the side and didn't seem inclined to jump in with helpful distractions or disconcerting conversational asides.  Harry was reaching the point where he was willing to eat canary creams if only to distract Sirius with feathers.

    And thus, the conversation continued – with Sirius in, for the first time, full Godfather mode.

"Not that I understand what Hermione and Ron have to do with – with – with _cutting yourself_ - but _why_ would you think they were in any danger?"  Sirius demanded finally, running an agitated hand through his hair.

Harry stared helplessly at his godfather.  This was not the same as avoiding Professor Flitwick's 'talks' or hiding whenever Professor Trelawney appeared.  Sirius was his godfather.  Sirius was the closest person to a _father _he had.  

    What Sirius said was supposed to _matter_.  Except - it was just as hard trying to explain how he felt to Sirius as it had been to anybody else.  _Maybe it's hard because I can't explain it to myself_.__

    Sirius grabbed Harry's arm - the cut had ceased bleeding but the blood remained: a track of dried red-black, "Harry."  Sirius stopped, then continued, "I know I haven't been a very good godfather - James and Lily are probably both rolling in their graves at how badly I've done and you only fifteen but -"  he swallowed, "Surely things aren't so bad that you would want to die?"  he said, gripping Harry's arm tightly, "Talk to me Harry - whatever it is that's making you unhappy, I can make it better."  He pleaded.

    (_Make it better?_) 

    Harry stared at his godfather, not sure of what to say - or how to say it.  

    (_Make it _better?)

   "I - It isn't like that, Sirius."  Harry finally managed, "I wasn't trying to kill myself."  He glanced at Professor Dumbledore, sipping from a cup of tea, "I – I wasn't."  he was extremely aware of how utterly unconvincing he sounded, standing there with blood on his arm and robes, "It – it was for a _spell_."

    (Make _it _better_?_)

   "That's what they all say -!"  Sirius dropped Harry's arm only to grab his shoulders as if to shake him, "Please Harry - talk to me.  Between Flitwick's report and this – I don't know what to think! No I do – but I can't believe that things have gotten so bad this past few months – and – Harry –"  he stopped, breathing deeply, "Harry, what's _wrong_?"

   "Nothing!"  Harry protested, "Nothing's wrong -"  Which was, he knew, mostly a lie.

    (_He wants to '_make it better_'?_)

    It wasn't that _everything_ was wrong - it was that _he _wasn't right.

    He wasn't normal.  The Dursleys had called him 'freak', the teachers at the primary school had preferred 'different' and those words were not so dissimilar from 'special' and 'saviour' – or even 'Boy Who Lived'.  The only thing that really differed was that he had friends now - ones he cared about.  Ones that would die if hit by a miscast 'Avada Kedavra'.  Sirius and the teachers had already fought in one war – Harry _knew _they could defend themselves.  They were fully trained witches and wizards.  Cedric Diggory, however, had been killed because of his proximity to Harry.

    Harry refused to allow the same thing to happen to Hermione and Ron.

    Bleeding was nothing compared to what he would do to make sure they remained alive and well.

    Bleeding wasn't even close.

    "You – don't understand."  Harry said tightly.

    _He wants to make it better!_

   "I'm trying – if you would just –"  Sirius began.

   "You're not _listening _Sirius.  You can't make it better."  Harry interrupted, fists clenched, "You don't even _understand_ – how can you make _anything_ better?"  (_You don't know what the hole inside is like.  You can't fill it up with something else.  You can't make Cedric Diggory alive again.  You can't make it so Cho never loved the boy I _killed_! You can't change the past – you can't make last year not happen._)

   "Harry – Harry, calm down –"  Sirius said, reaching out as if to touch the boy.

Harry jerked away, "Don't touch me."  

Sirius stopped, and paled, "Merlin."  He said, "Harry – they – did they –"  

   "Don't come near me."  Harry whispered, "Don't make promises you can't keep."  He glared at Sirius – who took several steps back in surprise, "Don't promise to make it _better_ when you _can't_.  Don't you _dare_."  

    At which point the door leading to Professor Dumbledore's antechamber swung open.  All occupants in the office (except Professor Dumbledore, who had been facing in that direction) turned to look in shock at Pansy Parkinson (who looked equally surprised – that is till she caught sight of Sirius – and started to scream).

   "_Petrificus_!"  Sirius snapped, flicking his wand; Pansy froze and collapsed backwards – into the arms of Gregory Goyle – and in the confusion, Harry bolted.

    The last thing Harry heard as he ran down the stone stairs and past the gargoyle was Sirius': "_Obliviate_!"

*

      Hermione was currently sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, listening to Ron's list of current woes – all of which focused almost exclusively on Harry's odd behaviour ("_Studying_ Hermione – I mean, it's normal for you but _Harry_? And that on top of giving up Quidditch.  It has to be You-Know-Who!").  It wasn't exactly what she had hoped for when Harry had hinted Ron wanted to 'talk' – but it was calm, and it was normal, and most of all: it had absolutely nothing to do with Divinations _or _Professor Sybill Trelawney.

    " – don't you think?"  Ron finished, staring expectantly at Hermione.

    She blinked and replayed the conversation in her mind before thoughtfully replying: "Well – maybe.  Harry has never liked drawing attention to himself –"  Ron gave her a disbelieving look, " – trust me Ron.  If he did, half the adventures we've had wouldn't have happened at the end of the year – or at all.  Just imagine if he'd told Professor Dumbledore straightaway that he was hearing voices in the walls – or that he was a Parseltongue.  Or that your brothers had given him a map with a suspicious charm on it.  Or that he was having strange dreams about You-Know-Who –"  

   "Alright – I get the point!"  Ron interrupted.

Hermione sighed, sometimes she wondered what it was precisely that made her consider Ron one of her closest friends (_It can't be for his looks – please, dear God, don't let it be for his _looks_.  I can't be _that _shallow – or lacking in aesthetic taste – can I?_), "Taking all that into consideration, however, I'm still fairly sure that his behaviour of late has very little – if anything at all - to do with Professor Kettleburn."  

   "But – it's _always_ the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher!"  Ron protested.

   "That isn't a conclusive argument Ron!"  Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "Professor Lupin wasn't evil."

   "He was a werewolf!"

   "But he wasn't evil."  

    Ron subsided and yawned before saying: "Why's Harry doing an assignment for Astronomy anyway? Professor Sinistra hasn't given us any homework since Finch-Fletchley spilled star-dust all over the floor in the Tower and made a new galaxy next to Andromeda."  Hermione, barely listening, glanced up at the clock hanging over the portrait hole ("You might as well just stay up and go to classes!"), and felt something cold slither through her stomach. 

    It was almost half past three in the morning – and Harry was still gone.  _If you're not back by three, Ron and I are going straight to Dumbledore._    

   "Oh no."  Hermione whispered.

Ron stared at her in growing horror: "I thought it was you two off having adventures without me – like back in third year."  He said, "But it isn't is it? Harry's been hiding from you too."   

*

      The moon had set.  The star-etched floor of the Astronomy Tower glowed (except for the place near Andromeda, which shone like a lamp) in the grey, predawn light.  

      _A Malfoy does not serve.  A Malfoy does not bow.  A Malfoy _leads_ – a Malfoy _rules_ – _

Draco didn't know how he knew (or perhaps he did not know, and it was merely coincidence that he was right) that Harry Potter would be there.  But he was not surprised when he rounded the last corner on the steep, circular staircase leading into the Astronomy classroom and found the Boy Who Lived standing at the far end, next to one of the windows.

    _ - a pet -_

    There was blood dripping down his arm, splashing onto the flagstones.  

   "Work."  Harry whispered, "Is this enough?"

    The words washed over Draco as he walked into the room – it really didn't matter what the other boy thought or was doing.

_- silver – chosen – silver – and chosen – just like that – _chosen_ – to be a _pet _– trapped - _animal _–_

"I'm willing to die for them.  Is that enough?"

      _A Malfoy makes his own destiny -_  

    "It has to be – I'll die.  I'll die right here if it'll save them.  Work – please –"  the knife fell from his hand, " – please –"  Harry looked up, eyes glowing green in the not-darkness of morning, "Malfoy."  He said flatly, "If you jump me again, I swear I'll –"

_      A Malfoy _takes_._

    Draco grabbed Harry – the blood on his sleeves matching those on the front of his robes – and yanked him forward.

   "Shut up."

   "What is the _matter _with you Malfoy –"

   "Shut up.  Shut up."  Fire outlined the flagstones, feeding on the debris within the cracks, "Shut up."  

Blue flames began to appear, burning on thin air.  Harry stared, eyes wide: "What the –"

Draco reached out and yanked Harry's head around, "Shut up.  Shut up.  Shut up.  Shut up."

    The tables arranged around the edges of the classroom burst into flame.

      _A Malfoy does not wear a collar._

- and Draco kissed him.

     __

=====================================================================

**Author's Note**: Cookie (**Narcissa Malfoy**, **Harry/Draco**, **Hermione/Ron **or **'Dean and Seamus?!'**) of choice to anybody who figures out where '_Tyche_', '_Llyr_' and any other mythological reference comes from and/or their relevance.  ^_^

**Response to reviews**: 

Please note, they're in **alphabetical** **order** (for the most part) so if you want to read my response to your review, it'll be easy to find.

**AsheFarley** - my 200th reviewer.  ^-^ It really does require some form of acknowledgement doesn't it?

**Clepsydra-Delphinus **– thank you for niffling me at **Fictionalley.org**.  **Without Question**has been _niffled_! And on cliches: strangely enough, I've often found that most cliches are actually fairly realistic (for a given amount of 'realistic' that is).  The way the cliche is used however, is where most writers seem to falter.  Everybody knows Harry has his mother's eyes - and his father's body - but what those around him think of that is something not commonly explored.  Besides, there has to be a reason why Petunia remembers her sister with such vitriol - even after fifteen years.  If Harry had resembled Petunia or some other Evans family member (and by the way - there is at least one student with 'Evans' as a last name at Hogwarts - Petunia as a squib anybody ^_^) I wonder how much Petunia would have hated Harry.

Thanks to **abby**, **Alexial, Bored Beyond Belief, Bronze Eagle, bthatcher2002, choka, Inarae, Izanami Hime, Jordan, Janice P., kin', KMS, Kylni, Loretta, Miss Mew, mistykasumi, mjwhittaker, ninerings, Stormy1x2, soymilk, Sophie, Tietsu, setsuna, Vendela, **- in particular (**abby**) the first Pansy you liked? Wow.  ^_^ (**Stormy1x2**) ~grins~ I have a few My Little Ponies and Barbies in storage as well - despite being an extreme tom boy who prefered using the chess set to plot the dynamics of a war between two fantastical kingdoms.  (**Janice P**.) The 'bathroom incident' between Harry and Draco is ...  shall we say, a cookie scene.  If anybody's interested, I'll post it one of these chapters.  (**KMS**) I'd be honoured if you recommended it on your recs page.  (**mjwhittaker**) Nope, definately not Singaporean - though educated in the Commonwealth.  Perhaps that might explain the similarities? (**Tietsu**) Thanks - it's really very nice to know that people like WQ.  

**Apple_QB**: the review definately made up for never getting one from you prior to this.  But don't let that stop you from reviewing again.  ^_^ It's nice to know that there are people out there who like the changing POV and the storyline and the mirade of plots circling around the story.  

**Candy Taiyo**: I'd be incredibly honoured if WQ was recommended for another archive.  Thank you.

**cristalfairy, the zedmeister **– All in good time? ~grins~

**Dee**: I understand completely.  I'm a slasher too – so it takes quite a bit to make me read a story that doesn't involve slash at some point.  So thank you.

**Demeter**: "like" would be too strong a term for what I think of Sybill Trelawney - possibly "under utilised" or "misunderstood" would be closer.  In canon I've always found it rather - strange - that her predictions did come true (for the most part - and the over-dose of Harry-will-die prophecies can be based on the fact that the situations he faces is so out-of-the-ordinary that he could die from ANYTHING).  I'm not – completely sure about 'liking' her – in canon that is.  She's rather two-dimensional (but then so is everybody but Harry, Hermione, Ron and Dumbledore) – however, I think that as the books progress, she'll play a larger part. 

**kbk**: Ah, vindication! Somebody finally commented on Hermione - always rather strange writing her.  It's far too easy to fall into Mary-Sue'ism with Hermione.  She really does contain the most amount of 'normal' traits doesn't she? ^_^

**MiniMe**: Just one question: where is the Discworld/Harry Potter crossover? I've been looking forward to reading it.  ~ waiting and waiting and waiting....~ By the way - have you read Sam Vimes (over in the Discworld fanfics category)? Spot on Pratchett humour - and almost as prolific as the god-of-discworld himself.  ^_^

Also - you've been advertising me on FA.org? Where? (~grins~) I can't help it - I like reading what other people say about me.  ^_^ And - 'extract of duck' and Remus Lupin.  ~grins~ It's a story (cookie I guess) but not very pivotal to WQ's plot.  ^_^ 

**S-Star**: thanks for following the recommendation.  ^_^ And more so for replying to my request and telling me where youd found it.  ^_^

**Silvaerina**: Thank you! Thank you, thank you thank you! I know it irritates many H/D fans reading that it's taking so long for Harry and Draco to jump each other like rabid were-rabbits in heat on aphrodisiacs but to me, it just can't be plausible if two enemies suddenly decided to shag like bunnies after four years of hatred...  It's fantastic to know at least some of you agree with me.  ^_^

**tnf**: ~grins~ Despite all evidence to the contrary, the cliff hanger at the end of this chapter wasn't done in the interest of mean-spiritedness but for a reason.  The similarity of ending for Chapter Twenty-Three and Chapter Twenty-Four was done on purpose - this chapter marks the change in Draco and Harry's "relationship" (for want of a better term).  And thanks for the 50 points - just which House? ^_^

And - for comparing me to **Anna's** incredible **Jewel of the Nile/Last Tango in Paris**'s Sybill Trelawney - thanks beyond measure.  ^_^  (am now inflating ego)

**zeynel**: Thanks for the correction! And - I'll definately take you up on the French help.  ^_^

=====================================================================

**Look! Harry and Draco shagging like were-rabbits in heat on aphrodisiacs! (And now that I have your attention: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (**this last because **Sildtsr** told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^**)**

Edited 22/03/2003 – canon-based correction (_Oblivious_ to _Obliviate _– with thanks to Koanju)


	26. Interlude: Overlap

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**Note**: Chapter Twenty-Four will be out here at skyehawke :: archives at the end of this week. It will appear at fanfiction.net in one month. This is because I'm moving at the end of this week and will loose internet access for one month. ~grins~   
  


And after a long lag, the story continues taking up right where we left our two protaganists: in the Astronomy Tower kissing.  ~grins~ And let me just say: I was _this_ close to cutting all of this and skipping straight over to Chapter Twenty-Four and plot-plot-plot mode.  The incomparible **Ashe Farley** convinced me that this part was an important part of the story and should be included as an Interlude rather than a scrap scene in my document of leftover scenes somewhere.  She was right (when is she _not_? ^_^) and as this bit has more Harry/Draco slash-goodness than any other part thus far, we should all praise her foresight.  

Also – cookie (posted at skyehawke archives – check link in my profile for appropriate place) sponsored by **Demeter1, Janice P., S-Star, switchknife, vaporescence **and **Apple QB**.  

**Author's Notes **and **response to reviews **(in alphabetical order) at end of chapter.  Enjoy the story!

Tien Riu

=====================================================================

**Interlude**: Overlap

      Harry shoved against Malfoy's chest – fingers slipping on the smooth, light material of the robes; teeth grazed against his lips.  Malfoy's eyes were pure silver in the firelight.  

    Later, he would find bruises on the back of his neck in the shape of Malfoy's fingers.

    But he would never remember anything except that the second time Draco Malfoy kissed him (_Malfoy snogged me!_) it had tasted of desperation.

      Harry knew the taste of desperation.

    It tasted of the lollipops the kindergarten teacher handed out for good behaviour – and knowing Dudley would make sure he never earned one.  

    It tasted of blurred shapes and Uncle Vernon complaining about the expense of spectacles.  

    It tasted of mysterious letters and snakes and owls and _magic_.  

    It tasted of a future without wrinkled elephant skin uniforms.

    It tasted of giants and redheaded boys and hand-knitted jumpers that had his initials on them.  It tasted of _belonging_.

    It tasted of hope – this fleeting, quicksilver form you could never hold or touch.

      It tasted like Draco Malfoy.

      Harry understood desperation.

But he didn't understand what kissing and Draco Malfoy (_Malfoy snogged me!_) had to do with it.

      Come to think of it – he didn't understand why he was being kissed at the top of the Astronomy Tower either.  

      Eventually, he stopped attempting to push the other boy away and waited.  

      Eventually, the other boy stopped.  The flickering light from the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls.  

      Harry stared at Draco – and had no idea what to say.  After all, what did one say after being snogged by one's worst enemy? Ron would have spluttered incoherent threats before decking Malfoy.  Neville would have fainted (or possibly thrown several badly-aimed punches - it was always hard to tell with the quiet ones).  Dean would have started shouting.  Seamus would have – _I don't know what Seamus would do._  Harry thought, _And frankly, it doesn't really matter – seeing as it's me that has to do something._

His arm ached.  Blood trickled down his arm, dripping from his fingers.  

      The silence stretched.

    At length, Harry realised Draco didn't know what to say either.

*

      This is what Draco Malfoy would remember.

The flames were warm – not cold.  _Warm_.

      Like Potter's lips, beneath his.  

      Like Potter's skin, slick with blood (he would find red flecks under his fingernails later).

      Like Potter.

      And it was wrong for him to feel like this.  Wrong because –

      Because – 

      And he tightened his hold, and pressed hard against the other's lips and fought not to breathe, to move, to think.

      Because – 

      He was kissing _Harry Potter_ in the Astronomy Tower at such an early hour of the morning that it was almost dawn.

      Because – 

      Today, he would be leaving Hogwarts (_Today._) with his Mother.  

      Because – 

      Tomorrow, there wouldn't be any more assignments, and Houses, and things that he could no longer do – like Quidditch, and meals and classes.  Tomorrow he wouldn't be Draco Malfoy, fifth year Slytherin.

      Because – 

      Tomorrow, Harry Potter would still be the Boy Who Lived, the Hero of the Wizarding World, the One who Survived the Dark Lord.  And he would be Draco Malfoy, scion of the Malfoy family.  The Dark Lord's - 

      Because – 

      And in the Astronomy Tower, he was kissing Harry Potter – holding on so tightly that he could see the other boy's famed green eyes.  Bright and clear as glass.  It reflected the fire that outlined the flagstones, scorched the desks and danced in thin air.

      Because – 

      He was kissing Harry Potter –

      Because – 

      And tomorrow it (_This _–) wouldn't matter.

      Because – 

      Everything he had ever learned – had endured: the Portraits, the never-ending lessons, the charms and spells and potions and – _And – and – _

    His father had said the Malfoy family would lead an army against the muggle epidemic.  

    It made no difference that he hadn't been born for the Dark Lord's cause but _made_ - with skin and blood - _And scales._

    It was his _destiny_.  

    And he could no more cut that from his body or burn it from his blood than Potter could hide that unsightly scar.  

      Draco jerked away, fingers releasing their hold on Harry's robes.  He stumbled back several steps.  They stood there, several feet apart, staring at each other.

      He knew Potter would speak first – could see the actions forming in the future as clearly as if he truly was a _vates_ as his Great-Grandmother Adverto Lucis-Malfoy had been.  (_Malfoys have powerful magic._)

      "What – what – _what was that for_?"  Harry managed, "What the _hell_ – why did you kiss me for Malfoy?"  

But he didn't sound angry so much as utterly confused.

    Which wasn't all that far from Draco's current state of mind.

      Blood stained the Gryffindor's hand; dark and red, shining in the firelight as it dripped off his fingers and fell to the floor, splashing on the stones.  

      _Because – "Voldemort wants a new pet."_  

=====================================================================

**Author's Note**: First: **Chapter Twenty-Four **is written and will be published in one week (Friday, 29th August) at skyehawke archives. It will appear at ff.net one month later (why? Because I'm moving states and will not have internet access for one month). It's thanks to **Ashe Farley** my long-suffering beta reader (go, praise her for she is alike to a god – well, goddess anyway ~grins~) that it's being uploaded this month rather than early October. Also, helped set up skyehawke archives so this is a bit of unnecessary publicity.  ~heeeeee~

Secondly: good grief.  Between **Chapter Twenty-Three **and the **Interlude**, reviews jumped from about 200 to 270.  Wow.  No words.  Thank you everybody.  

Cookie (posted at skyehawke archives – link in my profile) to anybody who can pick up the mythological references.  

With thanks to:

aliss, Alyssa, Angel_Spit, Anne, AriaThea, Auseakret, bluevanilla, Bronze Eagle, coriander, DcSolstice, Diana, Erica, Geekmomma, Hadrien, Iris Wood, Isolde, Izanami Hime, jadewtch, Koanju, la_shark19, Marla, mistykasumi, myopicblur nightwing, ryan, sammy, Sheron, silverfox1, snapdragon16, summercloud, V-Star, weijaa, zeynel 

In particularly: (**Angel_Spit**) ~grins~ Draco's life after the war is actually a fairly important theme - though it appears later on in the overall story.  Glad to see that somebody picked up on it this early though. (**coriander**) Draco's present will play a part in the next few chapters - and Severus hasn't given it to Draco yet because he's still trying to figure out what it'll do to him.  (**Isolde**) And another author I fangirl over.  If you haven't read **Isolde's** work yet, you should.  Go.  Now. (**koanju**) Thanks for the correction, I completely forgot how to spell "_Obliviate_" - [am pathethic] (silverfox1) ~grins~ Never get over authors I fangirl over reading my work.  For anybody who has been really unlucky not to know, **silverfox** (always silverfox to me ^_^) is the creator of the incredible Greenie (the hedgehog) and of course "My name is Severus".  Highly addictive.  Go.  Read.  ^_^  (**sammy**) ~grins~ Glad to know pet!Draco pleases.  I was rather scared at about chapter twenty when the readership exploded and suddenly I was faced with extremely high reader expectations, it's nice to know that the 'twist' was a twist rather than a twisty.  ~grins~ (**summercloud**) somebody's highly recommended Without Question? ~grins~ Who? (**zeynel**) absolutely correct.  ~grins~ Now let's see if anybody else picks up on this now rather than later.  ^_^

**Apple QB**: ~apologetic~ And right after that, my average update dropped down to once a month (and only because I updated once every two weeks prior to chapter 25).

**Demeter1, Janice P., S-Star, switchknife, vaporescence,**: Completely right.  For the curious: Llyr was the God of the sea - also a celtic king.  Tyche is the goddes of Luck or Fortune.  Additionally, Ler is a derivation of Llyr - and anybody who used to read the old fairy tales as a child might recognise King Ler - the father of the seven brothers who were transformed in swans, and their sister who transformed them back.  Yes - this is the legend Severus was talking about back when he first mentioned Narcissa.  

"Rain" was actually intended to be chapter 23's cookie (so think of it as dedicated to all of you who researched and got it right ~grins~ and by the way, I can't believe anybody actually thought Without Question was interesting enough to research a cookie-point) but there's another one posted at skyehawke archives for all of you.  Hope the Interlude feeds your craving for H/D. And - specifically: (vaporescence) you were right.  (Demeter1) Firstly - argh, you got caught by FF.net's introduction of unique pennames and numbers.  -_-; You'll always be 'Demeter' to me anyway.  ^_^ And yes, Draco has the worse of luck and it doesn't improve from here on in.  Also - cannot believe that you managed to pull those names off the top of your head.  0_0

**Jade Maxwell**: thank you.  ~smiles~ You make me think my writing is far better than it is. 

**tnf**:  ~grins~ It rather was a shock to open my mail and get this stern "Time to update" message right before Ashe's beta.  Also very amusing.  ^_^


	27. Aftermath

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

And voila! A musical instrument! And Chapter Twenty-Four makes its appearance at FF.net for all of you who missed its appearance at skyehawke :: archives a month and a bit ago.

Tien Riu

With thanks to **AsheFarley** who has patiently worked on "Without Question" with me for almost a year now.  Marvel at her patience, forebearance and ability to correct grammer and spelling without once hunting me down with a dictionary.

=====================================================================

Chapter Twenty-Four: Aftermath

      - _Malfoys do not – _

      _Malfoys are –_

      _Malfoys cause –_

      Malfoys - 

      A blue flame bounced off Draco's elbow as he shoved Potter away; the other boy stumbled, nearly falling backwards again.

    Blood flicked into the air.  Droplets – red and tinted by the flames – splashed on his sleeve.  Against the black of his robes, they vanished.  

    He didn't know what to do.

    So he ran.

    Past the dancing flames and the burning flagstones and ignoring the confused expression on Potter's face.  

    He didn't know what he had done.

The spiralling staircase that led down the Astronomy Tower was a blur of grey walls and sleeping portraits.

    (_Malfoys do not run._)

    But stopping – stopping seemed impossible.

      And behind him, Harry Potter stood, completely confused.  

_    I just – was I just – Malfoy just snogged me._

    _Again._

    His first impulse was to run after Malfoy – grab him by a trailing sleeve – feel the shift of bones in his hand as he yanked_ hard_ till the other boy could not move; hold him and demand – _What? _

   Parts of him were asking things like 'what' and 'why' and yelling incoherently (Hermione and Ron's influences no doubt).  Parts of him told him to start running and not stop till he had caught Malfoy and demanded the details of his (no doubt nefarious) scheme.  

    _Does Malfoy matter?_

    The bobbing flames swirled around him.  Harry lifted a hand and caught one of the flames – it was warm against his skin; Malfoy's lips had been cold.  

    (_Malfoy just snogged me!_) 

    _Are they here because the spell was successful? Are Hermione and Ron safe? (Malfoy just _snogged _me!) Should I try again – is the blood enough? Is this enough?_ He dragged in a breath that felt stiff and hot; his chest hurt – a dull ache thudding in time with the slashing pain in his arm.  _Malfoy just –_

    There was blood scattered across the floor, dark droplets between the stars.  A chill wind blew through the window.  _He doesn't matter.  Hermione and Ron matter.  Sirius and the Weasleys matter.  Keeping them safe matters.  And Cho –_

_    They – all of them – matter.  Not Malfoy.  Never Malfoy.  Malfoy doesn't matter.  Malfoy will never matter.  Malfoy can't matter –_

    His lips felt swollen.  (_Even if I -_)

    It didn't matter.   

*

      Twenty-five minutes before Draco Malfoy ran down the staircase leading to the Astronomy classroom, Sirius Black prodded the stupefied bodies of Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle cautiously.

   "I had not expected them so early."  Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "Slytherins –"  

   " - always interrupting at the worst moments possible."  Sirius muttered and ran a hand distractedly through his hair (which looked somewhat the worst for wear given the events of the past hour).

   "I would have said 'always resourceful' myself."  Professor Dumbledore said, tone slightly chiding, "Amongst the greatest traits of Salazar's House is its ingenuity and flexibility."

Sirius laughed – a harsh, sharp bark, "Oh yes - so long as they get something out of it they can be as ingenious as a Ravenclaw and flexible as a Hufflepuff can't they?"  He sneered, "If you can't kill, curse or destroy it, then buy it.  Wasn't that the unofficial motto Malfoy and his bunch use to go by?"  

   "As I recall, Julian Malfoy was an exceptional student – the staff often wondered why he hadn't been placed into Ravenclaw.  The Sorting Hat I'm afraid, is rather one for tradition at times –"

Sirius whirled around to stare at the Headmaster incredulously, "Who the f-"  he stopped then started again, "Who is Julian Malfoy and –" Sirius shook his head and glared down at the two frozen bodies, "However you chose to look at this, sir, there's been a security leak.  How else would these two have got your passwords and known to visit your office at _this_ hour? And if they're Slytherins who else would have told them but that greasy –"

Dumbledore sighed tiredly, "Sirius.  Severus' loyalty is without question."  

    "Slytherins _have _no loyalty! Snape will betray us the moment a better opportunity appears.  It's a fact – a _certainty_! Slytherins –"

   " – _survive_, Sirius."  Professor Dumbledore interrupted; in the shocked silence that followed, he continued: "More so than any other House.  And survival is why the children's Order was founded."  

Sirius stared, "Sir.  You – you _can't _possibly be considering allowing –"

Professor Dumbledore shook his head, "Perhaps your time would be better spent with Harry at the moment, Sirius."  He said solemnly, "However much I value your council, I feel that young Harry would require it far more than I at this moment."

Sirius paled and abruptly transformed; the bear-like dog skidded as it ran out of the office.

    The Headmaster levitated the two Slytherins up and into chairs and leaned back, watching the staring, unseeing eyes.

    On his perch, Fawkes rustled sleepily and poked his head out from under his wing to stare at his owner.

   "Yes, yes – but sleep is the least of our worries, Fawkes."  Dumbledore murmured absently, "Now how does it go? Ah yes –" he waved his wand, "_Enervate_!"

*

      Dawn had arrived.

      Harry sat on the ledge of one of the windows lining the Astronomy classroom and watched the fires.  The blue flames flickered and wavered in the growing wind that matched the smell of rain – there would be a storm before breakfast.

    The cut had stopped bleeding, and now, he absentmindedly rubbed his arm and waited.  

    _Dawn._

    The various constellations (including the new galaxy Finch-Fletchley had accidentally created) were fading beneath the growing light.  Strange how it had taken sunlight (or at least the certain possibility of sunlight) rather than fire to make the enchanted floor dim.  

    _What happens now?_  

    He had hoped (thought) that finishing the spell would bring – confirmation.  A sign that it was all right to – go on as if nothing had changed.  To forget everything that had happened last year and – _And go on._  

    Like everyone else.  

    The floor had caught on _fire_.  Professor Sinistra was probably going to have (very good) questions about why the tables were burning and he didn't know what to do with the blue flames in the air.  And yet, nothing seemed different.  Nothing felt different.  Nothing at all.  

    (_Malfoy tasted -_)

    _And Malfoy doesn't matter._

      A slight noise made him look up.  Sirius was standing at the doorway of the Astronomy classroom.  Harry remained silent.  What could he say that hadn't been yelled?

    Sirius walked into the classroom and then stopped, taking in the flames dancing in mid-air, between the flagstones on the floor and on the desks (which must have been charmed against actual burning if not catching alight).

   "Is this normal?"  Sirius asked; his voice was hoarse.

   "It didn't happen last time."  Harry said and watched as Sirius' eyes flickered first to his arm then to the bloody splatters on the floor forming an uneven circle.

    "Harry –"  Sirius began, then stopped again as if unsure what to say.

    The anger that had erupted in the Headmaster's Office boiled to the surface again: _How can he _not_ understand? How can _he_ not _know_? He's supposed to understand – who else should? He -_

    "Harry –"  Sirius started again before abruptly stopping and walking across the remainder of the classroom to kneel in front of Harry so they were almost eye-to-eye, "Harry _please_."

    "It's all right."  Harry said quietly, then louder, "It's all right."

    _He cares.  That's enough – at least he cares.  Even if he doesn't understand he cares.  That's enough.  That's _enough_._

    People like Ron could do this – they could have arguments, they could hate half their families and friends and throw temper tantrums and still have enough leftover for a quick game of quidditch.  He had forgotten the difference between people like Ron and him.  

    Sirius was looking at him.

    "I'm sorry I yelled."  And in a way he was sorry – because Sirius hadn't understood but at least he had _cared_.

   "I'm – that's all right, Harry."  Sirius said finally, "I'm sorry you had to yell."  He said – and the words sounded rehearsed, and somewhere inside, a part of Harry wondered how long it had taken Sirius to reach the Astronomy classroom, "I – don't know how to do this, Harry.  How to be – be James for you –"  but the ones that followed did not sound practised and surely they were the ones that counted.

    Blue flames danced about them; Harry wondered if they would burn for so long as the spell was active.

   "It doesn't matter."  Harry said – then at the sceptical look Sirius threw him: "I mean – I really _mean _it doesn't matter."

    Sirius shook his head, "It does – but –"  he stopped again, "I guess we just have to muddle on and –"  and with  a  sudden movement, Sirius hugged Harry tightly, "Merlin, Harry – please just stop cutting yourself.  I don't care if its for spells or – or whatever.  Just don't – it's –"  he stopped again pulled away searching Harry's face as if searching for something, "It – just stop."  

    And because it was the only thing he could say – and also because Sirius simply didn't understand, and perhaps never would (he was beginning to wonder if anybody else _could _understand), Harry said: "I promise."

At the end, despite the flames that cast shadows across his face, Sirius looked relieved.

    "Come on – let's get you to the Infirmary."  He said, and changed abruptly into Snuffles.

*

      Draco was running to nowhere – he had no destination, only away.  It was probably cowardly and certainly lacking in foresight – but he didn't know _where _to run _to_.  Nothing was beyond the Dark Lord's reach – least of all those who were destined (_Created._) to follow (_Serve._) him.  _My destiny –_

    Running from his destiny was stupid and fearful and not worthy of a Malfoy.  (_Father says dragons fear nothing._)

    Malfoys caused fear – and while there was no rule against _feeling _fear, Draco had always assumed it was not precisely something one admitted to either.  But at the same time, he had never been ashamed of feeling _scared_.  It was a part of _life_.  

    It was a part of _his_ life.

      He stopped running eventually – chest heaving, heart racing – and realised he was in the Slytherin dungeons.  It was – strange – to realise he would never walk down these corridors again.  Even if (_When._) the Dark Lord won. (_Do dragons need to pass their NEWTS?_)  

    He wouldn't even need to sit for his OWLs (_Do dragons need to study?_).

      "Mr Malfoy."  

Four years had taught Draco how to not react when caught by his Head of House.  He turned – conscious of the smooth swirl of robes falling perfectly into place and did not – quite – meet the Professor's eyes.  (_Do dragons bow to wizards or only the Dark Lord?_)

   "Sir."  

The Professor glared down, greasy locks falling around his angular face, (_Do dragons have hair?_) "At least you had the sense not to run about the castle indiscriminately for all and sundry to witness, you witless idiot."  He snapped finally and waited till Draco's (carefully) blank expression evidently irritated him enough to add: "Well?"  

   "Sir?"

(_Do dragons have to give excuses?_)

   "_Morde_."  Professor Snape muttered, "Have you no sense to at least ask the right questions? No – don't answer."  Professor Snape rubbed at the bridge of his nose, "Draco you absolute _idiot_ –"  he dragged in a breath, looking as if he was fighting for patience, "Your mother – for reasons of her own – wishes to speak with you." Professor Snape said finally (_Can dragons speak?_), "Narcissa maintains that there is _some _explanation for your blatant eavesdropping – not least how you foolishly allowed yourself to be _caught_."

    (_Are dragons just animals – pets – mindless – are they -_) 

    He forced himself to meet Professor Snape's gaze and exhaled – it was cold enough that a puff of white breath - (_Smoke._) - appeared and drifted upwards, "Sir."__

   "Say 'sir' in that insipid manner once more, Mr Malfoy and I shall assume - contrary to your father's assurances – that exposing you to bludgers at a young age was detrimental to your thought processes!"  Professor Snape snapped and whirled around in a flare of robes – one perfunctory gesture indicating that Draco should follow him.

    (_Do dragons think?_)

    He followed without question.  (_Malfoys do not follow; they lead._)  But Malfoys were not dragons – dragons were _animals._  (_Pets._)  His father had said that he had a destiny – that the Dark Lord's gift was an honour and he would bring pride to the Malfoy name.      

    _Do dragons care what Father thinks?_

*

      Blaise didn't hear the voices till he was in the antechamber of the Headmaster's office.

   "These are grave accusations you make, Miss Parkinson."  Came Professor Dumbledore's voice – light and amused as always despite the astonishingly early hour.

_    Pansy?_ Blaise thought and crept closer to the door the voices came from.

   "They aren't accusations, Professor."  Gregory Goyle's voice rumbled.

_And Greg? What are they doing here this early in the morning?_

   "Indeed."  Professor Dumbledore said, "So – Professor Snape is a Death Eater –"  

   "We have proof.  You can put us under veritaserum!"  Pansy interrupted, "We have the mask –"

   "And where did you find this mask – and I am assuming you refer to the mask Death Eaters are purported to wear – Miss Parkinson?"

   "In his desk, sir."  Pansy said, "While we were in detention two nights ago."

   "His desk."

   "Yes sir."  
   "Do you have the mask here – now with you?"

There was a brief silence filled with a rustle – like that of something being removed from a robe pocket.

   "So – you wish to accuse Professor Snape of being a Death Eater – in this time and age when Voldemort –"  Blaise winced, " – has returned."  Professor Dumbledore said, "I am aware that both the Parkinsons and the Goyles are pure-blooded families with proven sympathies in the past to both the Dark Arts and Voldemort's policies."  

   "You want to know why we are here."  Pansy said flatly.

   "Yes – why have you come to me?"  Professor Dumbledore said, "Lemon drop?"

There was a pause, "I'm sorry?"  Pansy asked.

   "Yes please."  Greg rumbled, "I like lemons."  He added. 

   "A boy after my own heart."  Professor Dumbledore chuckled, "Now – where were we? Ah yes – tell me, Miss Parkinson.  What was your intent in bringing such – distressing – news to my attention?"

Another pause – one that stretched into silence.

   "We want to be safe."  Greg rumbled finally, "Like the other students.  When the Dark Lord attacks.  We don't want to leave – we want to stay and be safe."  

   "Ah – is what Mr Goyle says correct, Miss Parkinson?"  Professor Dumbledore asked – and his voice was no longer light.

   "Yes sir."  Pansy replied quietly, "We're choosing a side.  Your side."  
   "Indeed."  

   "We can prove that Professor Snape's a Death Eater – and we know that he's part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle."  Pansy added quickly, "Or at least – Father mentioned Professor Snape several times during the summer after he left to attend the – meetings."  Pansy continued, voice growing smaller, "We can find more if we need to – s-sir."  She added, "Greg and I both."  
   "And in return you want to –"

   "We want to be safe."  Greg said.

   "What Greg means is – that is – when You-Know-Who attacks, and you send everybody else – the other students I mean – to safe places, we want to be sent too.  We don't want to return home."  Pansy added.

   "And why would you think that such preparations have taken place?"  Professor Dumbledore inquired, "The Ministry has not – as yet – acknowledged Voldemort's resurrection and any action Hogwarts takes for the safety of her students must be authorised by first the Ministry then the Board."

   "We're not stupid – sir."  Pansy replied immediately, "You're the only wizard the Dark Lord feared - fears.  You announced _his_ return without a thought to Minister Fudge or the Board.  You wouldn't let the other students be unprepared or unprotected."  She stopped then said, "I don't care about the other Slytherins.  I want to do _something _with my life – not just breed baby Death Eaters like Mother.  I want _more_."  
   "And what of you, Mr Goyle?"  the Headmaster asked quietly, "What do you wish?"

   "Not a killer.  Want to play Quidditch."  Greg offered after a pause, "Maybe learn how to make sweets.  Can I have another lemon drop?"

   "Of course."  

   "Sir – Professor Dumbledore -?"  Pansy said hesitantly, "I – what do we have to do?"

There was silence, and Blaise held his breath.  If the Headmaster refused Pansy and Greg than what hope did he have.  Especially as _they_ had something to offer the other side.  _I thought all I needed to do was offer to fight for the other side – be the proverbial converted Slytherin.  .  ._

    "Well, Miss Parkinson,"  Dumbledore said amicably, "First, I believe Mr Zabini should join us – then perhaps we shall all converse about the fact that, despite rumours stating otherwise, Slytherin and his students still form a vital part of Hogwarts."

   "Sir?"  Pansy said, voice shrill with both worry and confusion.

The door swung open, revealing Blaise – who froze in shock.

   "Severus does that as well."  Professor Dumbledore remarked cheerfully, "Please, Mr Zabini – sit down."  He gestured and a chair hobbled forward, "Lemon drop?"

Blaise took the sweet and held it in his hand – hoping that the headmaster wouldn't actually expect him to _eat_ it (he hated lemons almost as much as Greg evidently loved them).

   "Could I have another sweet?"  Greg rumbled.

   "Of course, of course."  Professor Dumbledore said; a silver dish floated over to Greg – who helped himself to a handful happily.

   "Now – shall we talk?"  at their blank stares, the headmaster elucidated: "Of your future at Hogwarts – and should there be an attack – beyond to safe, or even safer, harbours." 

   "Then –"  Pansy said slowly, Blaise glanced over to where the girl was sitting in a chair beside Greg, hands twisting around a silver mask in her lap, " – then we have –"  she pursed her lips, " - sanctuary?" 

    "You always did.  All you had to do was ask."  Albus Dumbledore's face was solemn and bereft of any good-natured humour as he responded. 

*

      The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office had refused to budge.  Hermione had even attempted the higher variations of '_alohomara_' (the casting of which was not, _technically_, breaking school rules as they _were _on the syllabus – for the seventh year Defensive and Offensive Auror Skills class, which had last been held in 1941).  

    She wasn't even sure if she had failed because of Hogwarts' wards or if her pronunciation of _aboleo compactum_ had been _more _than a little off.  

    "Maybe we should check the Astronomy Tower again?"  Ron asked.

Hermione resisted the urge to hit him, "What, the last two times we checked Harry had just stepped out –"  she gritted her teeth, " – he isn't in the Astronomy Tower, Ron."  She said firmly.

    "I just thought that maybe –"  Ron snapped, then paused, "Wait – the passage to that classroom where we found the Mirror of Erised back in first year is on the way to the Astronomy Tower."  He said urgently, "Maybe – well, Harry's been – so strange lately.  Studying all the time – I mean, it's normal for you, Hermione, but _Harry_?"

Hermione frowned, "Maybe."  She said hesitantly, "And maybe he's in the Library – I know Madam Pince opens it very early sometimes."  

    Hermione wished it didn't feel as if she was thinking through cotton wool.  _I need to get away from Ron and use the time turner.  Just a half-hour jump.  Even if I can't find Harry I'm sure I'll be able to find Professor Dumbledore.  Or Professor Snape – I _know _he'd be awake at this time of the morning._

   "Hermione – Hermione come on! What's wrong with you?"  Ron demanded, staring down at her worriedly, "You haven't been talking to Professor Kettleburn have you?"  he asked suspiciously.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Ron, not _everything _has to do with – oh never mind."  She shook her head, "I'm fine.  I just need to –"  she glanced down the corridor, " - to think –"  

How was she supposed to get away long enough to use the time turner? _I can't show it to Ron – he isn't stupid.  He'll ask questions – and I can't answer any of them.  Not yet –_

    The clock at the end of the corridor rang the quarter hour.  

    The gargoyle twitched and abruptly moving.  Hermione and Ron both turned as they heard voices and footsteps.

    "You – is he _really _the only wizard the Dark Lord feared?"  a voice – hesitant though no less recognisable – asked.

   "Got to be – no one else crazy enough."  Another rumbled a response, "Can I have your lemon drop?" 

   "Here take mine as well, Greg."  The third voice – definitely female – snapped, "And don't you dare move Blaise Zabini.  I want answers and if I have to hex you and steal some serum from Professor Snape's stores I _will_."  

   "Zabini, Goyle and Parkinson."  Ron whispered, "What are they all doing up so early?"

Hermione made a face, "The question is if anybody actually _sleeps_ anymore."  She muttered, "Come on – while we can."  She said, grabbing Ron by the hand and pulling him into the small alcove behind the gargoyle.

    There was a sudden silence when the three Slytherins saw the Gryffindors.  They stood there – the five students, and Hermione was suddenly struck by the resemblance this unlikely scene had with a wildlife documentary she had seen on the BBC about the behaviour of prey and predators at a waterhole.  _The question to ask in this situation however is: who is the predator and who is the prey?_

    The silence stretched and Hermione could practically _feel_ Ron thinking up a nasty comment that would probably end in a nasty hex.  

   "Morning."  Goyle rumbled, and the Slytherins shouldered past.

"Well – that was unexpected."  Ron mumbled; Hermione stared at him, "Goyle can tell time."  He snickered weakly as Hermione sighed.

_Good thing we don't have to deal with the Slytherins on top of everything else._  She thought, _Forget lessons with Trelawney – nothing could be more frustrating than dealing with all this stupid rivalry in the real world._

=====================================================================

Response to reviews (in alphabetical order): 

With thanks to **Asitha, Bardic Trainee Rainelle** (Mercedes Lackey fan? ~grins~), **crawler, dragondie, doompaw, Paula,  zeynel, siobhan, **

In particular:

**Demeter1**: Yes! Achieved originality! It's often hard to write anything original with Harry/Draco - it feels as if everything you can say/write/attempt has been done before and probably better.  ^_^ And yes - some days even I feel like kicking Draco in the butt and telling him to start rebelling already (that is till I remember that 1) it's harder than it sounds when you're on the inside and 2) it's my fault he isn't).

**Jade Maxwell**: ~grins~ You guessed correctly why Harry can touch Draco.  (Now sits back and watches as everybody hunts down your review to find out what it was)

=====================================================================

**Draco in a chastity belt!**

Right, now that I have your attention – go, review.  ^_^


	28. When It Comes

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

=====================================================================

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings.  Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.  **WARNING**: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.  

**Author's Notes **and **response to reviews **(in alphabetical order) at end of chapter.  Enjoy the story!

=====================================================================

**Chapter Twenty-Five**: When It Comes

      Somewhere, a clock struck five.  The sound matched the pounding in Hermione's ears.  She stared at the Headmaster, seated calmly behind his chair and watching them with a smile.  (_And twinkle.  Let's not forget the _bloody _twinkle._)

    Ron took a seat before the wide desk with the air of one passing on his problems to a higher authority.  (_At five in the morning._)

   "Miss Granger, Mr Weasley.  Lemon drop?"  Professor Dumbledore asked, looking decidedly bemused (_He was waiting for us._),  "No? Well then - how can I help you?"  he waved the floating plate of candy back to one of the small spindly tables scattered around his office.  

Hermione watched the motion of his hand – the snap-wave (_One motion for direction, one for intent -_) - and heard herself saying slowly, "You know where Harry is."  (_It's five in the morning and he was waiting!_)

Ron was staring at her – Professor Dumbledore smiled; Hermione wondered why her heart was still pounding.  (_Harry's safe – it's over.  It's _over _and everybody's still _alive _and it doesn't matter _how_ so long as we're all _safe- )__

   "Minerva uses exactly the same tone of voice."  Dumbledore mused thoughtfully, eyes twinkling behind gold rims as he added: "Harry is in the infirmary, guarded by the ever resourceful Snuffles."

_    He was waiting for us._

*

      "Well?"  Narcissa Malfoy demanded in a strident tone, "Do you have _anything_ at all to say for yourself Draco?"

    Severus refrained from rolling his eyes and settled in to watch what was turning out to be a very familiar scene.  (_Substitute Lucius for Narcissa - or Lucius for Draco and any Malfoy ancestor of choice.  Not that hard; they all look the same -_) 

    Albus had once asked Severus why he allowed the Malfoys to invade his peace, privacy and sanity not to mention disturb his sleeping patterns.  He hadn't been able to answer the question - though he had gotten away from the discussion with a better idea of exactly how _different _Gryffindors were from Slytherins.  

    He had supposed that, for the most part, it was a mixture of bemused entertainment (the life of a teacher having once - in the period he referred to as pre-Harry Potter - been a very predictable existence) and good old fashion manipulation on their part.  He had even wasted a few drunken evenings wondering if Lucius' talent at manipulation was the only reason why his blind allegiance to the Dark Lord hadn't reduced the Malfoy family's position as one of the most powerful families in the wizarding world.  _And if so why in the name of Salazar Slytherin didn't Lucius bother to pass on that political savvy to Draco!_

    " - skulking? _Skulking_ Draco?"  Narcissa demanded, voice rising - an unmistakable sign of the upcoming tirade.

Severus winced and cursed Hogwarts wards - it was impossible to do many things within their boundaries including cast a serendipitous muting charm.  _Pity we can't cast that on all the Malfoys - might keep them out of trouble.  Or out of my chambers long enough for me to get some rest._  

    Some days he wondered if he'd ever managed to sleep longer than four hours.

    Some days he wondered if - when the war finally ended and if he was still alive - he would still be watching Malfoys argue and discipline their offspring in his quarters.  Some days he wondered when he had become so trusted by them that they willingly shared their affairs with him.  (_At least failing has a bright side - there aren't any more Malfoys after Draco._)  

    Narcissa was still talking - hitting her stride with a shrillness that jarred his nerves.  It wasn't the melodrama that left a bitter taste in his mouth however, nor was it the subject matter that left an uneasy curdling in his stomach.  

    The war was coming - he could feel it.  See it - bore witness every senseless day teaching juvenile idiots prattling their parents' speeches as if they understood _anything_ at all -

    Every day, looking out on that sea of faces and count the ones that had been missing all their lives - killed by the Dark Lord before they could even be conceived.  (_Tyche -_)

    And then seeing him at that table - in exactly the same place Lucius had sat -    

    It didn't help that in dim light, Draco could be mistaken for Lucius Malfoy, thirty years ago.  

    (_Narcissa wants me to save Draco - and it's even _I_ know it's too late for him._) 

*

    Ron jerked up with enough momentum to send his chair clattering to the ground before it righted itself with an irate creak.

    "Harry's _where_?"  He bellowed and bolted – presumably for the Infirmary.

Hermione waited till the door had swung shut with a bang that woke some of the headmasters sleeping in the portraits circling the office.  _Then_ she met the Headmaster's gaze with one of her own.

   "Miss Granger?"  Dumbledore gestured and the metal plate floated over again, "Lemon drop?"  At her refusal, the plate zoomed to a landing, metal clinking against the desk, "Then how may I help you?"

    Somewhere inside, Hermione knew, some part of her was on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum.  (_Twinkling and smiling and _waiting _for us as if we're _children _with his lemon drops and his _-)

    She took a calming breath, then spoke: "Professor Dumbledore – one of the reasons why you asked _me _to join the Order – why you have given me such latitude – why I'm having lessons with Professor Trelawney! -is because I'm close enough to Harry to guard his safety -"

    "Ah yes – the day your father produced those delightful - what were they called? 'Booger free' –"  

   "Professor!"  Hermione said (_Oh God.  Now I'm interrupting the Headmaster!_), "Please sir – I'm not sure what the teachers think of us.  Of the – the children's Order.  But I – _we _– take it seriously."  She forced herself to stop and breathe normally, "I can't keep Harry safe if I'm kept in the dark on - on - what's going on sir.  If you keep secrets from me on -"  She stopped again then said slowly, "_Please _sir – is Harry in real danger?"  She touched the time turner, hidden beneath the fastenings of her robes, "Is there still _time_, Professor?"

   "There is always time, Miss Granger."  Professor Dumbledore said, leaning forward and steepling his hands, "In this particular case however, there is no need for _additional _time –"  he stopped.

It took a while for Hermione to realise the teeny sound she was hearing wasn't the pounding in her ears but the glass in the casement windows behind the Headmaster's desk rattling.  Professor Dumbledore frowned and Fawkes, on his perch, rustled restlessly.

    With the suddenness of an ambush, the glass face of the grandfather clock shattered. 

*

    Severus forced himself to concentrate.  Albus would want a full report even if all he could recite was a list of the inanities Narcissa had spouted - and the hour was particularly unholy.  (_Probably be up too – the bloody coot._)  

    " – and while eavesdropping – _in its place!_ – is a skill that is not exactly uncommendable – being _caught_ is most definitely not!"  Narcissa turned on her son, robes swirling gracefully about her legs, "Have you not learned _better_?"  this with a glare directed at Severus.

   "Madam – this is a school for witchcraft and wizardry.  _Not_, and please attempt to remember this: subterfuge and petty thievery."  Severus retorted, not bothering to move.

Narcissa sniffed, "_That_ fact might explain – in a small part – the letters that fool Dumbledore has been sending to the Manor these past few years."  She said, "Well?"  this last to her son, "Do you have an explanation, Draco?"

    Staring at that downturn head, the tilt of the shoulders beneath the laughably unsuitable summer robes he was wearing, Severus blinked to clear the vision of Lucius at sixteen.  (_Or fourteen really - Lucius was tall enough to pass for a seventh year by the time he turned sixteen.  Even managed to con some of the Madam's girls -_)  

    He had known Draco for sixteen years (though really, he knew most of the other Slytherin students as well - the higher levels of wizarding society not being so much exclusive as severely depleted and inbred).  Yet, sometimes, late at night when he'd caught Draco at some foolish prank, he still had to blink to remind himself that it wasn't Lucius.  (_Not Lucius plotting revenge against the Gryffindors.  Not Lucius leading us all to detention and lost house points.  Not Lucius at all._)  

    Late at night, it was hard to remember to tell himself that Draco was as much Narcissa's child as he was Lucius' heir.  Especially when every word - every deed, right down to pronunciation and intonation - _Exactly the same._

    "Well?"  Narcissa repeated impatiently.

    _Exactly like Lucius.  .  ._

*

      Under the bed, Snuffles whined, claws clicking against the stone floor.  Harry had worried slightly about his presence in the Infirmary, but Madam Pomfrey had sniffed and huffed once, poured '_Skingro!_' over his arm and left for the room off her office.  

    Several beds across a first year tossed about restlessly – Harry glanced over and muzzily took in the pink and purple stripes.  ( - _potions or charms - probably potions, charms accidents always seem to twinkle -_)

    Snuffles crept out from under the bed and rested his jaw on Harry's foot, staring at him fixedly before jumping up onto the bed, circling three times (adeptly missing Harry's legs) and lying down, nose tucked under his tail.

    There was silence.

    Harry stared up at the Infirmary ceiling; it was so late it was almost time to wake up and start getting ready for a new day.

    Snuffles snorted and shifted before tucking his nose more firmly under his tail.

    He was tired – too tired to wonder if there would be strange rumours at the breakfast table.  (_Boy who lives bleeds in Astronomy Tower - Potter gone potty; Magic Stain Remover can't get rid of his blood -_) The torches that lined the Infirmary cast shadows against the walls that, as he watched, seemed to resemble - (_ - in robes.  Witches and wizards – wonder how they tell the difference from a distance - everybody looks like they're wearing dresses -_) – wizards dancing.  The shadows flared - (_Fire, fire, burning - dancing in the air - he was warm, I thought he'd be cold to touch - so warm - fire under - ice – and__ Malfoy stopped running? -_) and Harry Potter slept.

*

      Draco looked up, mouth opening then closing again, "I – I – have no excuses, Mother."  he said finally.

Narcissa breathed a sigh of exasperation; to Severus it sounded like Draco's name.

    "Not even a convincing explanation?"  she asked then in a softer voice: "Then perhaps – just this once – tell me the truth."

Draco stared; "What?"  

   "The truth Draco.  On your behaviour these past few weeks – and tonight."  Narcissa said, "Do remember that it will be _me _who has to answer your father's questions on why I left early from an – important - event to visit Severus of all people."  Her hair was white-gold in the candlelight – the exact shade of her son's, "If I am to lie to Lucius, then I want to know the truth of the matter."  

In the continuing silence, Severus shifted then suggested in as bland a tone as he could manage: "Perhaps some – _incentive_? I believe it was Lucius' parenting tool of choice."  (_And no doubt his father's before him and so on and so forth in a never ending, ever diminishing line of white-haired, blue-eyed ancestors._)

    Draco cast him an uncertain glance – barely a flicker of grey beneath pale eyelashes.  

   "Bribery.  How - juvenile."  Narcissa said distastefully, "Is this how far our House's standards have fallen?"  

   "Narcissa –"  Severus began, frankly insulted, and was stopped by a languid wave of a hand.

   "I wish to be home before breakfast is served – so utterly gauche to appear at the table in the clothes one wore out the previous night."  Severus snorted; Narcissa turned her gaze back down to her son, "Draco.  I am your only ally."  Draco stared at her apprehensively, "You have been bound to the Dark Lord's service, and those who fail to obey _his_ commands are punished – _regardless_ of age."  She paused, "No comment? Very well – perhaps a little more blunt as _somebody_ has evidently failed to teach you the subtleties of the English language –"

   "_Madam_ -!"

   "Oh do cease prattling Severus –"

   "_Prattling_? " 

   "I was referring to Lucius if you _must _know."  Narcissa continued, never taking her eyes from Draco, "Your father and your name will not protect you from _his_ anger, Draco Malfoy.  _I_ however can and will circumvent the consequences that will fall upon _your_ head – but I _must _know the truth."  

*

      Ron was halfway to the Infirmary before he realised Hermione wasn't following him.  He briefly wondered if he should stop and wait for her – but decided against it.  After all, Hermione was well – _Hermione._  If there was anything magical between the Infirmary and the Headmaster's Office that Hermione couldn't handle, it'd need both Ron _and _Harry to save her.  As for the other sort of fighting that required a more – _direct _approach only boys seemed capable of – well, he doubted that even Malfoy and his goons (_Slimy Slytherins._) were stupid enough to start it so close to Professor Dumbledore.

  Besides, he had this strange feeling about Harry being in the Infirmary.  The same sort of feeling he got every year after Harry nearly died from another confrontation with You-Know-Who.  _Bloody hell, Harry – what did you do _this_ time?_

    _And why didn't you ask me or Hermione to come with you?_

*

       You ran."  Narcissa said, "Your father had given me the impression that not only were you willing, you were _proud_ of your role in the Dark Lord's arsenal.  Yet you ran."

    The clock began chiming the hour.

   "I don't want to be an animal."  Draco said, staring up at his mother – and Severus had the uncanny sensation of being completely forgotten (_Is this how Potter feels in his Invisibility Cloak? How – ignominious._), "I don't want to be a – a dragon."  He swallowed, shadows playing against the paleness of his skin, "I don't want to be a – a pet.  An _animal_.  I don't want to be _his_ – I don't want to be mindless – I don't want to be _used_ like _this _-!"  there was a hysterical tone in his voice; Severus floundered: _Lucius wouldn't have seen the Dark Lord's task in this light -_

    The call came at that moment – a familiar agony that had him, despite experience, grasping at his arm.  He hissed in pain, trying to straighten through the waves of magic that pulled with a thoroughly physical pain.  Draco paled – and with one smooth, calm motion, Narcissa whirled around, drew her wand and snapped out: "_Imprudentis_!"

(_Not so very unaware of my existence then -_)

    And as he fell to the ground in a crackle of black light, Severus' last thought through the waves of pain was: _He panics like Narcissa._

*

_      "Petrificus_."  

There wasn't enough time for Snuffles to do more than expel one short huff of surprise before the blue light hit him between the eyes.  

    "_Mobiliocorpus_."  

    Snuffles' single opened eye stared at her as Harry floated out of the bed.

   "When Ron gets here, go straight to Professor Dumbledore."  Hermione whispered, hesitating before adding: "I _will_ keep him safe Sirius.  I promise."  

*

      "Mother?"  Draco stared in horror first at the body of his Head of House, then at his mother, "_Mother_? What did you – why did you –"

   "Cease prattling like a peon Draco.  I taught you better."  Narcissa said.

Draco swallowed then: "What did you - why did - Mother – he was being called by the _Dark Lord_! To interfere is punishable by _death_ and You-Know-Who will know it was _your_ wand and _your_ spell -!"  _She's gone insane – all this talk about truth and protection against You-Know-Who – it's got to be insanity –_

   "I doubt very much that the Dark Lord would kill the wife of his strongest and richest supporter.  However, that is uncertain enough that you _must_ pay attention.  Now."  Narcissa said calmly, "We have very little time so by Lir, be silent."  She said - though Draco hadn't opened his mouth; her tone was fast and smooth and so very unlike his normally languid, elegant mother, "You must go.  Tonight.  Go to Dumbledore and ask for sanctuary."  She gestured with her wand, "_Accio _earring!"  a small object whizzed through the air and into her hand as she grasped Draco's face and held it still, "_Foro Audis_! _Prélèvement de sang_."

Draco hissed in pain; a drop of blood trickled down his neck.  ****

   "Blast him for not calling me immediately when he could not figure out what it was.  You should have been wearing this since September."  Narcissa whispered, her breath brushed against his hair, tickling his skin, "Show Dumbledore the earring.  If Remus Lupin does not know how to activate the wards on it, _he_ will."  She paused, staring down at him – (_Mother -_) and held him though he tried to move away, "Be safe.  Do not forget who you are.  Whose blood runs through you."  She whispered, "_Imperio_!"  He didn't have time to flinch, "Go to Dumbledore's office.  Be quiet, do not let yourself be seen.  When you reach the Headmaster's Office, the spell will end."  She stared down at him, then dragged him close; he could smell the faint scent that he had always known as _hers_ – but had never realised he knew till that moment, "Be safe Draco."  she pressed a kiss against his hair before releasing him.

    Draco left, struggling against the spell even as he knew it was useless.

    _Go to Dumbledore's office.  Be quiet.  Don't let anybody see me.  .  _

_    Be safe._

_    Mother.   _

*

      Five minutes later, Ron entered the Infirmary quietly (four years of practice having taught him the dangers of bursting in, waking the other patients and bringing the wrath of Madam Pomfrey down on the heads of all).  Somewhere in the hallway, a clock began to toll the hour.   He hurried over to Snuffles – frozen in his position on the stripped, empty bed.

   "Hey mate – where's Harry?"  Ron said, glancing over to the only other patient in the Infirmary, "Snape must have been in rare form letting that first year dye himself like that –"  he reached down to pat Snuffles and paused at the sticky static sensation of the '_petrificus_', "What the –"  

    A lifetime being the younger brother to Fred and George Weasley had taught Ron how to jump to the right conclusions quickly.

   "_Enervate!_"  and when that didn't work: "_Finite Incantatum_! Snuffles – where's Harry – who took him –"  Ron began only to stop as Snuffles jumped off the bed and transformed, mid-leap, into Sirius Black.

   "He's safe – get back to your dorm room.  I need to see Professor Dumbledore."  then Sirius ran off, transforming once more into the large bear-like dog so quickly the clap of displaced air made the first year stir, rattled the glass in the windows lining the long, dorm-like room and brought Madam Pomfrey out of her office.

   "Ron Weasley?"  Madam Pomfrey's voice cut through the air in a way uncanny for something whispered, "And where precisely has Harry Potter gone too this time?"

    _What's going _on_?_

*

      Severus jerked out of the induced sleep and immediately curled around his arm.  The pain would abate as time passed (he wasn't sure whether to curse or be thankful that not _enough _time had passed) but exposure allowed him to gain some control over his reaction.  He straightened, lips thin as he slowly stood and stared at the witch before him.

   "I expect you had a reason for what you did?"  he said finally.

   "You always were prone to holding grudges."  Narcissa remarked and Severus drew a breath to give her the verbal equivalent of a trashing when she shook her head, "No I – _we_ – don't have time for this – sparring Severus."  

   "Time? _Time_?! You put me _under_ when the _Dark Lord_ calls and you –"  Severus dragged in a breath, "What is the _meaning_ of this, Narcissa?"

   "Draco has gone to Dumbledore."  Narcissa said, and then stopped, holding still as if gathering breath, "That fool will take him in for that alone - and if not, then for the protections my wards will give his - precious Gryffindors."  

    Severus would later wonder if Narcissa had realised precisely what her actions were leading her to till that moment.  There was a very clear difference between opposing the Dark Lord and fighting him and Narcissa - for all her intelligence and power - had never been a tactician.  

    "Draco – wards –"  Severus stopped himself before he started babbling, and drew his robes around himself, "Do you know what you _risk_, Narcissa?"  he asked finally, "Even Lucius can't - _won't_ - protect you if _he_ discovers who cost him his pet dragon."

   "Who caused him Draco."  Narcissa said (snapped).

Her face was smudged - he had to blink before he realised the dark areas were scorch marks.  A glance was enough to tell him that her hands were badly burned.

    "Why?"  

   "A mother's love is not incentive enough?"  Narcissa asked, lips curling.

   "Mother's love?"  Severus arched one eyebrow, "Sweet sentimentality Narcissa?"  he gestured, "_Accio_ Burn Balm!"  and caught the vial as it flew through the air, "Will you allow me?"

   "It serves as good an excuse as any other."  Narcissa held out her hands – the skin was charred.  

He realised more by the lack of smell than anything else, the amount of wards that were layered over her (possibly the only reason why she had not caught alight).  The first drop of Burn Balm (usually enough to heal the worst injuries caused by fire and heat) barely made a difference.

    "Why did you do this, Narcissa?"  Severus asked, not looking up from his task; the skin was gradually turning a deep, inflamed red.

Despite the pain she must have felt as the balm regrew the burned skin - along with the destroyed nerves - Narcissa's voice was steady, "I will not be the last Du'Lér, Severus."  

   "Is that supposed to mean anything to me?"  Severus said, voice bland even as he spread the balm with slightly more force than necessary.

   "You married Tyche."  Narcissa said curtly; his hands didn't still in their task and she never flinched, "Ah - but then I forget, you '_loved_' Tyche."  Her tone made it a farce.

He looked up at that, "Yes."  He said finally. 

   "And two families end in a bloodless bath."  

He managed - just - to stifle the snort of derision (and it would have, at one point, been also mildly hysterical), "Hardly bloodless."

   "How far Slytherin has fallen; you borrow Gryffindor and Hufflepuff ideology."  Narcissa said, lips twisted, but she didn't say any more on that topic; the vial was empty and her hands a light pink before he looked up again.

    "There will be repercussions."  Severus said, "The Dark Lord will want an explanation for why I did not appear immediately."  The pain had faded – sure sign that the meeting had already started, "He will know I was delayed by magic - and when he meets you next, he will recognise your magic as the cause."

   "Hogsmeade has already fallen, Severus.  The Dark Lord will attack Hogwarts tomorrow night."  Narcissa said; Severus stiffened, "Dumbledore no doubt already knows – the wards shook when Hogsmeade's shattered.  That amount of power cannot be hidden."

   "You knew it would happen tonight –!"  Severus stared at her in shock.

   "Of course.  Five powerful families? Why - or when - else would they meet?"

   "Then why –"  Severus stared.

Narcissa's laugh was light and all the more chilling for the fact that it was feigned, "Do you _honestly _think that my loyalties lie with Dumbledore and his self-styled 'side of Light'?"

   "What are you doing, Narcissa?"  Severus asked, staring at the woman in front of him, "This isn't a game -"

Narcissa arched one elegant eyebrow – a strange expression amidst the smudges that dotted the pale skin, "I assure you, Severus - I am not playing a game."  She whispered as she leaned in till the swirl of one lock nearly touched the edge of his face, "I haven't been for nearly seventeen years." 

She smirked and then abruptly turned, robes swirled around her heels in a move that reminded him of Draco.  

    "_Incendio_!" the fireplace roared to life as she threw a handful of floo powder into the flames, "Malfoy Manor!"  

    It was the last time he would see Narcissa Malfoy nee Du'Lér alive.

=====================================================================

**Author's Note**: Once more, all thanks for this chapter should go to the incredibly talented **Ashe Farley **– she who beta'd and spell-checked and character-checked and continued doing so until this chapter past muster.  

At this stage I'd like to announce that Chapter Twenty-Five marks the final phase of Without Question - or to use a sports simile: we're entering the last quarter people, bottom of the ninth, bases loaded and (I have no idea how to continue this metaphor, not being a fan of baseball - nor having ever watched a game in my life).  ~grins~ In any case, hope you enjoyed the chapter - comments and criticisms greatly appreciated.  There is no cookie for this chapter, but I do promise one for **Chapter Twenty-Six** if anybody can provide a translation for the latin used in this chapter.  

**Response to reviews**:

Good grief - 301 reviews.  I feel like asking some of you to go review at skyehawke :: archives, just so the replies to reviews don't end up longer than the story!  Actually yes - go review at skyehawke.  Spread the reviews around! (cackles [cough - sorry, working full time has worked horrors on my sense of humour]) ^_^

With thanks to **doompaw, darcel, Fox Atelis, GreenEyes7, Kendraen Ideals, Lady Siobhan, peregrineme, Tweks, Renangel, ueblay**

In particular

**Darcel**: Well, not completely *true*; Jade Maxwell was right - for a given definition of 'right'.  ~grins~

**GreenEyes7**: if the latin phrases are important for readers to know, they're colloquially translated by the character saying them shortly afterwards.  Otherwise, it's a plot point for you not to know what they mean (though I try and stay away from making them important to the plot since I can't speak Latin myself ~grins~).  Oh - and never apologise for a long review: it always makes my day, I love long reviews! ^_^

**Lady Siobhan**: all of my writing has slowed to a crawl - I currently have a full time job which sucks out almost all of my free time.  But, as I promised all of you all those months ago, this story WILL be finished.  Especially since my story plans were completed almost a year ago.  You might like to hit my livejournal for updates on progress - and I generally post to skyehawke archives a week (once a month) earlier as well.  

**ueblay**: You know - you're one of two people who commented on this (the other posted at skyehawke).  I got a kick that somebody reading Without Question actually noticed the fact that Lockhart wasn't a Voldemort henchman since I spent a few moments wondering about that particular scene myself when I was writing.  Your review made me remember why I left it in so here's the reason (~grins~): Hermione considers Lockhart as evil as any of the other DADA henchmen - simply because he wasn't who she thought he was (that is: perfect, extremely intelligent and a true hero).

=====================================================================

**Look! Draco in a chastity belt!**

**Now that I have your attention: go, review.  ^_^**


	29. Though it's Dark

Without Question

By Tien Riu

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowlings. Depiction of characters, plotline and all related mistakes are mine. **Warning**: note that this story contains overtones of what is commonly known as slash, yaoi, shonen-ai (otherwise known as homosexual relationships).

**Author's Notes**, and response to reviews at end of chapter.

With thanks as always and ever to Ashe - ever-patient beta-reader.

Chapter Twenty-Six: **Though It's Dark**

"_Ron?_"

He was dreaming about spiders crawling towards him when, suddenly, he could hear Hermione calling his name.

Ron opened his eyes and wondered, briefly, why Hermione was in the boys' dormitory (and wasn't that reverse sexism the way girls could march right into their side of the tower but they couldn't do the same to them). Then he wondered why his bed was so uncomfortable.

"_Ron? Can you hear me?" _

He was lying on the ground. (_Why am I sleeping on the ground?_) There was a fire – it crackled in its little stone lined hole.

"_Ron?"_

"Leave him be, he's like this in the mornings." Harry said, "He needs a little time to switch on."

They were in a clearing surrounded by trees. Something chirped in the darkness.

"Where am I?" Ron demanded, "What are you doing here Hermione? And tell me that we aren't in the _acrumantala infested _Forbidden Forest -!"

But that was six hours ago and far from Hogwarts.

The box was tucked behind the fire place (such a simple hiding place). It felt like nothing to Severus' fingers - there was no powerful magic here. No wards against entry, nothing to charm it against theft or hide it from detection. There was no real need; until five hours ago, the box had been empty.

Tyche had created it that summer when the negotiations between their parents had first started. A wedding gift, she had said with her sardonic grin, a representation of their relationship and future together. He couldn't remember what his response had been - he hoped, with the hindsight of age and the embarrassment of memory that it had been intelligent and wise. (It had probably been trite and clichéd)

Severus gritted his teeth as he stared blindly at the cheap, unpolished and splintering wood. She had cast the unbreakable charms with their blood (for what they were worth, she had said with a roll of her eyes, let tradition hold it together when the charms failed to work).

It was still lined with velvet – still plush from lack of use. The potion bottle he'd found in it – afterwards – was long gone, broken pieces ground to dust. He'd dropped the time turner in there before Narcissa had arrived – she would have noticed anything warded or protected. (_- and two families end in a bloodless bath -_)

There were years when he did not think of Tyche at all.

Entire years.

_Damn you Narcissa._

Albus had handed the 'turners to staff members at the beginning of the school year - passed them around as if they were candy rather than dangerous, prohibited tools.

But temptation had passed him by years ago; he lifted the hourglass from the box, absentmindedly wrapping the chain around his fingers.

His hands were shaking. Had she noticed? Before tonight he would have assumed such things beneath Narcissa - if not completely beyond her attention span; the lady of the manor would never have deemed to notice such small details in those around her.

_How soon we forget the lessons branded into our skins. What is on the surface is never the complete truth._

The chain of the time turner slipped through his fingers. _The solution to all the problems in my world; the antidote to any poison –_

There was a brief whoosh and the fire turned green; the Headmaster's long beard rolled out over the logs and onto the flagstones - it was no warning and all the notice he received.

"Narcissa Malfoy has -" he stopped - of course Albus would know already, the floo monitors were in his office; he gripped his hand tightly, willing it to stop shaking (_Gutless Hufflepuff - betrayed by my own limbs -_), "She sent Draco to you."

"Ah." Albus said quietly, "I see."

(_Do you? Then would you be so kind as to explain it to _me_, your hapless fool?_)

"Hogsmeade has been attacked." Albus said as if he were talking of the weather, "I'm surprised you didn't feel it - the shaking was quite more than Rowena Ravenclaw's notes implied."

Severus didn't question how the Headmaster knew - he always did (_How you do this and retain your sanity -_), "I am closer to the foundations here. The effect was - muted." Severus responded - and wondered why he couldn't admit Narcissa Malfoy had managed to hex him to sleep (of all things!), "Narcissa knew - what would happen tonight. It might have been the reason why she agreed to come."

_Sent to distract us?_ But no, that was paranoia speaking.

No need to speak of failure. It had not been too late when he had realised - it had _already_ been too late. It was always, he suspected, too late. (_Ten years, twenty - thirty - when does this chain of evidence and event end?_) He gripped the time turner tight enough that it felt as if the glass would shatter.

Albus hummed thoughtfully, "Fascinating." He shook his head, the beard twisting strangely over the flagstones, "What else have you discovered my boy?"

"And if there is none?" Severus asked, "If that is all I know?"

"Severus."

"You _cannot_ read my mind, Albus."

"I don't need to, Severus." The Headmaster said, "I never have had to."

"There was a gathering earlier this - yesterday. At least five of the old families were there."

"The question then is _which_ of the families -"

"Albus -" he knew the sensation that pressed against his chest - had given it name after name as the years went by.

There were children from twelve of the old families at Hogwarts - seven of them were in Slytherin.

"I gave you my word, Severus." Albus chided gently.

( _- liar -_) But he said instead: "Whatever Narcissa Malfoy's motives, we have to assume that what she does will not - with any certainty - be with our interests at heart."

"But perhaps -" he paused, the breeze from the green flames tugging at his beard making the tip roll across the flagstones, "Perhaps, not in Tom's interest either, dear boy." (_Don't call me that._) "You will answer his call?"

"I'll report back when I can." Severus said shortly.

"Then we will wait for your return." Albus said calmly.

Severus froze and forced the words out: "Surely time should be of the essence. Grand gestures are meaningless - you said that once."

Albus' head tilted to one side, considering, "Ah yes, the 1987 Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match; Humpernickel wanted to forfeit."

"We still won." Severus said absently.

"Regardless of their meaning, there are a time and place for gestures - grand or otherwise." Albus noted; the flames licked green around his floating head, curling over the pale white of his beard and then he was gone.

When Sirius reached the inner sanctum of Albus's office, Remus was sitting in one of the armchairs scattered around the room - Madam Pomfrey shaking her head as she ran her wand up and down his neck.

"Really Headmaster - were it not for the circumstances. . ." she declared as Sirius closed the door, "Try not to harm yourself any further, Lupin - there is only so much even you can sustain before permanent injury occurs." She snapped, gathering her skirts about her and stepping towards the fireplace before turning to glare at Sirius, "As for you _Sirius Black_ - " she began then shaking her head tossed powder into the fire and with a muttered 'Infirmary' stalked through.

"Ah Sirius." Albus said, "You do have quite a knack at firing the ire of my staff." he gestured to a seat, "I take it the ever quick thinking Miss Granger directed you here."

"She told me to come here immediately - after casting a '_stupefy_' that would have done you proud, Remus." Sirius said uncertainly, glancing at the werewolf and taking in both the paler than normal complexion and the dark scorch marks on his brown robes, "What happened? Where is Harry -? _What's going on_?"

Albus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, "As you might have garnered, Voldemort has attacked earlier than expected." He nodded to Remus, "Your prediction, Remus."

"Hardly happy to be proven precognitive, sir." Remus said, wincing, "What do you want us to do, Professor? I take it that there isn't very much time?"

"Slightly more than fourteen hours according to Colin Creevey." Albus confirmed, "Sirius I need you to send the alert out through the Order. Tell them -" he paused, then sighed, "Tell them that the worst has happened and that we will do as planned - Hogwarts' wards shall fall and the war will begin tonight." He tapped his desk and a small panel rose to reveal a box, "You will have enough time." Albus drew out the time-turner, "That we can manage."

"And Hogsmeade, Albus?" Remus said quickly as Sirius made to rise, "What of Hogsmeade?"

Albus shook his head, "The tunnels were opened and the forerunners will draw the people back to Hogwarts before Voldemort reaches the village. More than that -" he looked old, Sirius thought, old and tired, " - is beyond even a time turner's ability to foretell. Go Sirius."  
Sirius nodded, already drawing the time-turner over his head, "What of Harry sir? Will he - _is_ he safe?"

"As safe as he has always been." Albus said and waved at the fireplace, "Go."

The flames roared green then died, bringing with it silence.

"And I, sir?" Remus asked quietly, "What do you want me to do?"

Albus tapped the side of his nose, blue eyes twinkling, "Ah Remus. My dear boy."

"Sir?" Remus ventured after the pause had stretched for longer than a gap in conversation might indicate.

Albus glanced towards Fawkes - who, Remus observed with some curiosity, ducked his head, "First time that bird has been wrong when it comes to time." Albus muttered, "Your task, Remus, is on its way – or rather _his_ way."

The creak of the stairs turning came as the flames flickered from green. Fawkes squawked on his stand.

Remus could barely remember the boy that pushed open the door and entered the office - though there really wasn't a need for remembrance when it came to recognising Malfoys. The silver-blonde hair (though this one was a touch darker than expected) and those eyes were distinctive. (_Not Lucius -_) He grabbed for a name (he must have taught the boy after all). (_Dragon? Surely not? No - it was something. . . Latin. Draconis?_)

"Remus. You may remember Draco Malfoy." Albus said.

There was something odd about the look in the boy's eyes – they seemed glazed. Almost drugged. _Not at Hogwarts –_ Remus thought uncertainly, _Muggle habits in a pureblood. . . _

"I taught him – some time ago now, sir." Remus said finally, and wished silently that Madam Pomfrey's potions against concussion worked instantaneously rather than over the course of a night.

"Fred -? Fred?" Ginny broke ranks with the rest of the fourth year Gryffindors sleepily making their way into the Great Hall - ducking past a prefect along the way - to reach her brother, "Fred?"

"Ginny – Merlin! There you are – thought you'd gone and vanished like –"

"Fred where's Ron? He isn't with the fifth years." Ginny said urgently.

Fred stared at her, "He isn't here already?" he asked, gripping her shoulders, "What about Harry and Hermione?"

Ginny shook her head, "I can't find any of them – where's George?"

"Looking for Ron." Fred said distractedly, "They must have run off – knowing Harry, they're in the thick of whatever this is about." Ginny bit her lip and glanced around the Great Hall, searching for that flash of Weasley red.

There were students everywhere, roughly organised by houses now though the four long tables had been vanished – so she assumed – by the House Elves. They huddled together, half of them still in pyjamas – a few of the Hufflepuff first years were curled up in the corner, trying to sleep.

"Noise level ain't 'nuff to wake a hippogriff is it?" George's familiar rumble said next to her ear; Ginny did not squeak but did turn to glare at her older brother.

"Looks like we're only missing the Slytherins." Fred remarked, "Didn't find Ron?"

George shook his head, "Like you said, probably in the thick of things with Potter and Granger."

"Leaving us to look after the girls." Fred added with a huff of humour, "There's Katie now – Bell – _oi! Bell!_" he bellowed.

"Who he think his kidding?" George muttered, "If the Minister of Magic doesn't know he fancies her by now –" and then glanced rather guiltily at Ginny, "We'll talk about this later." George said, and rested his hand on her shoulder – it was a warm, familiar weight. She tightened her hold on Fred's arm.

Their mother had taken the four of them to the station by herself that year. There had been another series of late night raids and Ginny had never seen her father so tired. They had been running late; there hadn't been any time for a proper good-bye.

Her mother had seemed about to say something more, but the train had whistled and she had managed only a hurried: "Don't lose each other. Take care - and don't forget you're family."

It had been a strange farewell, at the time Ginny had wondered if perhaps their mum had been thinking about Percy and his pig-headedness again.

_Don't lose each other. . ._

"Hey Fred, George. Ginny." Katie Bell said, "You three all right?"

There were more students pouring in past the doors – mostly Slytherins though there were a few Ravenclaws and one or two black-banded Hufflepuffs in the crowd. Most of the Slytherins, Ginny noted sourly, had taken the time to pull on robes.

"Haven't found Ron yet –" Fred said, "You don't know any news do you?" his voice cracked slightly and he flushed red as he cleared his throat.

"He's with Dumbledore." Katie said promptly, "Along with Granger and Potter. Probably having tea and lemon drops knowing the old codger." She grinned suddenly, "You two might be interested in this - Madam Pomfrey's been giving Prefects droughts to keep everybody warm." She was shivering as she dug out a bag from her robes of what looked like yellow sweets, "Probably a good thing too since most of the younger years got pulled out of bed in their pyjamas. Anyway, Finnegan (that idiot) charmed mine into lemon drops – they don't taste half bad, you two –" she glanced down at Ginny, "Sorry Ginny you're positively dwarfed by these two – three should grab one now while there's some left." Katie glanced up and swore softly, "And there's the professors now. Quick take these – I have to make sure the littles get one each or every sniffle between now and Christmas will be my fault." She hurried off, leaving each of them with a sweet.

"She's right, they aren't half bad." Fred remarked, sucking briefly, "We'll have to talk to Finnegan about the charm he used – maybe some sort of pre-set charm to change medicine -?"

"Better yet - something to change sweets into medicine." George said with a snicker.

"And then," the Headmaster said as the fire flickered from green, "There were two." Fawkes thrilled, fluttering his wings, "Oh I always count you, my friend." Albus chuckled, "I trust you know your task?" Fawkes fluttered his wings and Albus politely gestured a window open, "On time, Fawkes. No later, no sooner." He reminded the phoenix who squawked one last time before vanishing into the dawn.

Albus stood at the window, eyes drawn to the glow on the horizon where Hogsmeade was, fingering his beard.

The knock on his door was a mere pretence at politeness; Albus didn't turn around as he answered: "Come in Minerva."

"Fawkes -"

"Yes, I just sent him off." Albus said, "The children are gathered?"

"In the Great Hall. Calmly so far - and the Prefects are distributing the potion as best they can." Minerva McGonagall said, "You were right this time, everything is moving smoothly. There is only one question left, Albus. And you have been quite amazingly agile about avoiding answering it."

"At least some should leave with the groups."

"Is that entirely wise?" Minerva asked quietly.

Albus turned from the window and sat down in one of the arm chairs by the fire, "Tea?"

"Oh Albus." Minerva said, exasperated, "Really - at this time?"

"When else?" Albus asked.

She stopped him mid gesture with an exasperated sigh, "Allow me; after the past few days I don't think I can stomach that lemon-tainted sop you call tea," she said, "Besides of which, I always was more partial to Earl Grey." The teapot that appeared had cats curled around its rim.

They drank in silence as the sun rose.

"Albus - why?" Minerva finally said, "All of this - the safe houses, the exodus, the Wards - even allowing the children to prepare - all was for their safety. I understand - _despite what Severus might think_ _thank you_ - that the Slytherins are part of what we protect but they would be as safe within the wards, safer! Why send them out with the others? Why increase the opportunity for all of this to fall into disaster?"

Albus was silent for several long moments before he answered, "The madman -"

"Oh not this again Albus -!" Minerva protested.

"The madman saw darkness. The genius saw stars. But the child -" Albus paused, "The child however, saw everything."

"And what does that mean, Albus?" Minerva asked in exasperation, "What does it matter what the madman, the genius - or yes, even the child - see?"

"Everything Minerva. It is everything." Albus said, "Victory or defeat, the sun shall rise after the final battle. And on that day, we will all face the same challenges we face now. Tom is no more than one challenge - a vast one yes, but we cannot allow him to overshadow the others that are equally as important."

"And how shall placing Slytherins out there – to stick out like sore thumbs and increase the threat of discovery – make them all the more prepared to face all these other challenges, Albus?" Minerva snapped, "How -"

Albus held up one hand, "Pax, Minerva." He stood, "Come, Severus will be returning soon."

"Albus." Minerva said; but she rose from her seat, "Albus. What do you from this?"

"The war would have meant nothing - win or lose - if at the end, nothing was learned, I feel." Albus said in answer.

Ginny wasn't listening to her brothers; she was watching Professor Dumbledore talking with McGonagall and Flitwick at the front of the Great Hall. She wished she was close enough to hear.

Behind Ginny, somebody shot up red sparks - she flinched. Fred pressed down on her shoulder.

"S'just the prefects." He said, lowering his voice as students around the Great Hall slowly grew silent, "What do you think this is about anyway?" he asked.

"I heard somebody say something about a drill - in case You-Know-Who attacks again this year."

A prefect (Sonya Grey, a sixth year Ravenclaw) frowned as she passed them but continued on to a group of sniffling second years, kneeling to hand out what looked like the same yellow sweets Katie Bell had given them. George crossed his eyes at her, one cheek bulging from the sweet.

"You lot be quiet." A Hufflepuff prefect hissed before moving on to wake up a patch of first years.

He needn't have bothered - they snapped upright in shock as the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

Professor Dumbledore looked up from his conversation just as Professor Snape stalked past them, robes flaring around him. The flames from the torches caught a glint of gold hanging around his neck - it drew Ginny's attention - (_I've seen that before -_)

There were splashes on the Professor's robes – dark wet patches that reminded Ginny of something – _Potions?_

"Merlin." George breathed, his hand tightened on her shoulder, "Fred. _Fred._"

_Blood._

"Shite."

It was blood.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat, "All ready, prefects?" he asked then smiled, "The second of Hogwarts wards were raised earlier this morning." He paused - almost as if he expected a response.

Bile rose in Ginny's throat. _Where are you Ron?_

"Ah - I see that '_Hogwarts, A History_' has been slightly lax in its - recording." Dumbledore said, "Nobody? Well then - perhaps an immediate answer. Professor Binns?"

The ghostly professor floated out from a shadow - or perhaps through a wall and cleared his throat, "The first wards of Hogwarts, set upon the foundations by Lér D'Lér -"

" - stop apparation." Fred was whispering, "First wards for safety. Last for hiding us from muggles after the division -"  
" - set in concentric circles around Hogwarts -" George added, " - twelve wards in total."

"The second is the first line of -" Fred stopped, eyes widening - and then he let go of her and slipped away into the crowd.

"You lot quiet over there -" a prefect hissed.

"He's going after Katie." George said softly, "Ginny - Ginny don't move - Merlin don't move, I'll be back -" and then he let go of her and slipped into the crowd as well.

"George - wait -" Ginny began and hugged herself, leaving unsaid the remainder of her sentence: _What's going on? What do you know that you won't tell me?_

Professor Binns was still lecturing - the first year Hufflepuffs were settling in to fall back asleep in their corner, " - the second through to eleventh wards are designed to rise -" he huffed: four years of history lessons had taught Ginny that this was his version of a laugh, " - when Hogwarts has been attacked or is deemed to be in danger of an attack. Each ward stops a physical manifestation - both magical and muggle -"

"Let me go -!" Fred hissed; Ginny whirled - George was pulling his twin back through the crowd.

"Not now you nitwit." George whispered harshly as he grabbed Ginny's arm, drawing her close, "_Don't loose each other_ - Ron's already gone. If we get separated whatever happens from here in - we'll be alone." He said, a desperate edge to his voice, "Katie can wait - _family comes first._"

Fred stared at him oddly, then subsided with only a muttered, "Later Ginny - we'll explain later."

Ginny felt like kicking both of them. _There's blood on Snape's robes, Binns is talking about wards and they're chasing _girls _-_

" - the eleventh ward stops visual apparitions from entering or leaving the grounds and seals Hogwarts within and without." Professor Binns stopped, "The wards have been raised?" he exclaimed and abruptly vanished.

The Great Hall exploded into noise.

"Quiet. Quiet please!" Professor Dumbledore was saying; sparks flickered across the Great Hall and Professor Flitwick sent a hoard of firecrackers up into the ceiling, "Hogsmeade has fallen. We expect an attack on Hogwarts shortly after dusk. Before then, the eleventh ward will fall."

The silence fell – worse than the sudden explosion of noise because it settled in: stifling and still. Fred and George stepped closer, bracketing Ginny between them. She hated how her brothers always tried to stand between her and anything they deemed dangerous. That morning, Ginny didn't care. Not because she couldn't defend herself (and since her first year at Hogwarts, not being _weak_ had been almost an obsession) but because while they tried to protect her from reality, she would know where they were. And knowing the exact location of her family was - very important.

_Ron - you idiot - where _are _you? Mum said to stay together - Ron -_

"The Ministry has always deemed it safer to seal away Hogwarts and keep all that it holds - separated in times of war." Professor Dumbledore said into that silence, "'_Protected_' is an easily bandied word. It does not equate safety; it does not provide wisdom," He paused, "It does not guarantee that harm will not occur." It seemed, to Ginny, as if he was staring directly at her, "It cannot stop violence - nor death. What peace it offers it does through ignorance." He held out one finger, as if to halt speech (though everybody in the Great Hall - with the possible exception of Mrs Norris - were silent), "But 'protected', by its very nature, offers an intrinsic choice - one oft' assumed but - " Professor Dumbledore smiled then, " - occasionally taken by choice:

"Be hidden, or hide."

**Author's Notes**: It has been a long time hasn't it? I am sorry, turns out working, moving countries and running an archive does eat up all your free time. However, as this chapter has been on my hard drive for the past three months, being edited continually, I thought I should at least attempt to release it for all of you to read. A poor seasonal present but the best I can do, I'm afraid. Suffice to say, all mistakes are mine, all things that work is due in large part to Ashe.


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